IV
Cody had been gone for three days.
A missing person's report was filed. Carey made copies of a reward poster with Cody's picture on it and had the copies hung up all around Boston. She made phone calls, went to the press, urged the police to send out a search party—she did everything she could do.
All that was left was the hardest part: waiting.
.
Cody's third day at the mining factory in Tucson, Arizona began at dawn, when he awoke before any of the other guys did and quietly—tiptoeing his way past them as they slept—went outside. He sat on the steps that led to the main door and watched the sunrise.
He'd always loved sunrises. Even as a kid. Everything was so peaceful, so new. He would watch as the sunlight overcame the darkness, as the shadows receded and gave way to brightness, and think it was the closest thing to perfection in existence.
The sun was still in the process of ascending over the horizon when Cody heard the creaking sound of the door's hinges, followed by that of shuffling feet, behind him and turned around to see who was there.
It was Leroy, wrapped securely in his quilt, holding in his hand a black, medium-sized notebook. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.
"Not at all." Cody hardly knew anything about Leroy, and the thought of being in close proximity to someone who was getting over an illness irked him, but he didn't want to appear rude so he said nothing as Leroy sat down next to him.
"Pete told me you were a journalist," Leroy said, handing Cody the notebook, "so I had him go out and get this for you."
Cody took it and looked it over. It was brand new. The pages inside were blank. "Thanks," he said.
"It's nothing special." Leroy shrugged. "I just figured it'd be a good way to break the ice since, you know, we haven't exactly gotten acquainted."
"Well, I really appreciate it."
"My pleasure."
Leroy nodded and then turned his attention to the horizon, where the sun was beginning to peek.
"So what have you been sick with these past few days?" asked Cody. "Is it contagious?"
Leroy looked as though he was holding back a smile. "Uh, no," he said with a slight, almost sarcastic chuckle. "It's not like that."
"What do you mean?"
Leroy hesitated a moment, as if not sure what to say, but then replied simply with, "I'm a recovering junkie."
Cody couldn't understand why he was taken aback by that, but he was. Perhaps it was the sheer honesty in Leroy's voice. "Oh," was all he could say.
Leroy nodded again, tilting his head down in what looked like embarrassment.
Without thinking, Cody's hand went to his shoulder. "It's alright, man. No judgment from me."
Leroy smiled a genuine smile at that.
.
Later on that same day, Leroy gave Cody a pen and Cody began writing.
.
Monday, 10:25 a.m.
I woke up early this morning and watched the sunrise with Leroy. It was nice. He gave me this notebook. Said it was a way to break the ice between us. It wasn't really necessary, but I was grateful just the same. Lord knows, I need something to do while I'm here besides play cards, read books, and chit chat with the other guys. They're all great, don't get me wrong, but I need some time to myself. After all, that's why I came here in the first place. At least, I think it is.
Pete says that at noon today he wants to go see a movie with me and a couple of the others. I'm not sure how it's going to work with what little money we all have, but Pete says not to worry, he's got a plan. Whatever that means. Guess I'll have to find out.
It's strange—even though I'm away from home and everything I know, I'm happy. I like it here. I miss Bailey and Zack and all, but I don't regret coming here. Is that selfish of me? I don't even know why I came in the first place. I just felt this urge to "go." I'm sure people are worried about me. I'm sure they're pissed off and hysterical, wondering where the hell I am. I can't bring myself to want to go back though. I should probably give them a call at some point, but I don't want to go back home just yet.
I don't have the dreams anymore. I've slept here for two nights and both were completely dreamless. I woke up feeling refreshed, like I used to when I was younger, before Afghanistan and… well, everything. For the first time since that whole mess, I can close my eyes and only see darkness.
You don't realize how much you take the dark for granted until you lose it. And when you get it back, the light is just that much more beautiful. I'm telling you.
2:47 p.m.
We went to the movies—Pete, me, Andy, James, and Simon, that is. I asked Leroy if he wanted to go, but he said he still wasn't feeling a hundred percent. Come to find out, it was for the best that there were only five of us. Any more would likely have raised suspicion.
Pete did have his own little plan for going to the movies. The plan was, one guy would buy a ticket while the other four waited outside the side door which separated the parking lot from the theater hallway. The one guy would go down the hallway, open the door (it only opened from the inside to prevent people from sneaking in), let the others in, tell them which theater their movie was playing in, and together they'd watch it. All of them, for the price of one ticket.
I felt a little bad, but I have to hand it to Pete—that was pretty clever. And it was an exhilarating experience, it really was. It's nice to break the rules every once in a while. I wish I'd done that more often in my life, honestly.
8:02 p.m.
Johnny came by. He brought a couple of pizzas, some beers, and his guitar. He played song after song after song as we ate and joked around. It was a lot of fun.
Before he left, he took Leroy aside and spoke to him privately. I don't know what they said, but when they came back, Leroy looked worried. So did Johnny.
I'm worried too, although I can't explain why.
9:37 p.m.
The sun's going down, and I'm sitting on the same steps I sat on this morning, watching it. I tried talking to Leroy a few minutes ago, but he wouldn't say anything. I assured him that he could trust me but he just told me to fuck off, and then went to bed. I don't blame him, really. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. His business is none of mine. I'll apologize in the morning.
Jesus, this sunset is beautiful.
.
Tuesday, 12:35 p.m.
I slept in a little today (couldn't stop thinking about Leroy and his addiction), but I still managed to wake up in time to greet the sun. It had already risen over the horizon, but just barely. Pete and James went out to get breakfast and came back with muffins and a few of those cheap sample boxes of cereal. There were also leftovers from last night, which was a big help.
After eating I apologized to Leroy. I told him I was sorry for being such a pushy jerk, and that I should have minded my own business. He shrugged, said it was okay, and then smiled and offered for us to hang out later.
There's a bar not too far from the mining factory—meaning it's in walking distance—and Leroy wants us to go there. I'm excited. Haven't been to a bar in several weeks. I have some money left in my wallet and I'm in need of a good screwdriver.
9:10 p.m.
I'm not sure how to say what all I'm about to say, so I'm just going to babble and try to make sense of it all. I'm shaking as I write this and I can barely see through the tears in my eyes, but I'll do the best I can.
Leroy and I went to the bar. It started off being a lot of fun. We played pool, had some drinks, joked around—you name it. But then, get this, as we were leaving, we saw this prostitute getting jumped by six guys. That's right, six guys. They called her just about every fowl name under the sun and then started tossing her back and forth like a rag doll, slapping her around and whatnot. Neither of us had any idea what she'd done to piss these guys off, but I wasn't going to sit back and let them beat her to death.
So right after one guy pushed her to the ground, I stepped in and told him and the rest of them to get lost. They all looked at me like I'd lost my mind. I asked them what was wrong with them, ganging up on a woman. I didn't get a clear answer but one of them said something like, "We don't need trash like her around here." I told them it was ironic that they should call her trash when they themselves were drunk off their asses and had her outnumbered.
They didn't like that, not one bit. I'm thoroughly convinced that had Leroy not ran back inside and told the bartender to call the police, I'd be dead right now. I owe that man my life. I'm going to have to remember to thank him.
The prostitute's name is Melinda Monroe. I say "is" because I brought her back to the factory with me. She's lying down next to me, curled into a ball as I write. I brought her back because she had nowhere else to go, and knowing me, I wasn't going to just leave her there. I couldn't do that.
Leroy wasn't too happy about having another mouth to feed, but ultimately he understood. She thanked us about a hundred times as we took her back with us, and even offered to fuck us both for free. We told her that wouldn't be necessary.
Anyway, the worst part was when we got back. Everyone was upset. Jamie, Simon, and Andy were sobbing. Matt was pacing and cursing. Tom was asking Pete if "it" was true, and how he could possibly know. I asked Phil, who was sitting closest to the door, what was going on. He looked at me, and then looked at Melinda and said, "Who the fuck is she?"
I introduced her and told him that she needed a place to stay, which made him start to cry. I asked him again what was going on, and then he told me…
Johnny was found dead in an alleyway with his throat cut. We don't know who did it, but some of the guys suspect cops. According to them, this has "cover-up" written all over it. I think they're just pissed off, but I don't know. At the end of the day, I just don't know.
I don't know what to think or how I should react. I barely knew Johnny, and yet I can't seem to stop crying. I just feel so bad.
Leroy and I had a talk after hearing the news. He had already started crying and I was dazed. "I can't fucking believe this," he said, and I responded with a nod and a simple, "He was a good guy." Then Leroy buried his face in his hands and shouted, "He was helping me! He was helping me quit the drugs!" I didn't know what to say, so I just wrapped my arms around him and hugged him for a long time.
I'm still in somewhat of a daze. It's just like back in Afghanistan. Well not quite, but it's similar. I try to connect with someone and they turn around and die. I'm worried about the guys. They're all so shaken up over this. A lot of them depended on Johnny. What are they going to do now?
Earlier Pete was saying that everything happens for a reason. I try to tell myself that, but it'd be so much easier to believe if I only knew what that reason was.
.
It had been an eventful, emotionally-draining day for Cody Martin, so it was no surprise that he would have a nightmare. What was a surprise, however, was what the nightmare was about.
.
Cody was in the desert again—naked and alone, the bright, sweltering sun above beating down on him. Before him was flat, open land, the heat simmering off the hot sand and rising into the air. He didn't know why but his heart was pounding. He was nervous, worried. He was surrounded by the unknown, by death—a pathetic, lonely death.
He would have cried if it weren't for the shadow that passed over him. He looked up, shielding his eyes as best he could against the sun's blinding glare, and saw… a dove.
Cody was perplexed. A dove? In the desert? It felt so nonsensical, and yet there it was, irrefutable. It circled over him three times and then, to Cody's bewilderment, landed gracefully on the ground before his feet.
He stared at it, and it stared back at him.
And then it spoke.
"Do not be troubled," it said. Its voice was loud despite its delicate appearance.
Cody froze, unable to believe his own ears. A talking dove, he thought. Not a good sign. Once animals start talking to you, you know you're crazy.
The dove seemed to read his mind. "You are not crazed," it assured him. "I am truly speaking to you."
"Wh-why?" Cody stammered, still doubting his sanity.
"You must deliver a message, in my name," the dove replied, "for I am not of this world."
Cody was flabbergasted. He paused for a long moment, mulling over the illogical notion of delivering a message from a dove, and then asked, "What message?"
"You shall know it when you see it," came the answer.
That wasn't much to go on. Cody bit his bottom lip. There was something about the dove, other than its speaking ability, that mystified him. Even though he towered over it in height, Cody felt small staring into its eyes. "Who are you?" he dared to ask.
But the dove did not answer—not directly. It flew away, its cryptic response—"I am that I am"—hovering in the hot, stagnant air.
And just then, the ground beneath Cody's feet broke apart, cracks splitting into it like thin ice over a river, growing, revealing a dark abyss below. Cody ran, but his body was heavy and languid, his legs barely able to move, and the next thing he knew, he was descending—down, down, down—into the unknown.
.
When Cody bolted up on the mattress that he'd claimed as his own, he was drenched in sweat. It was the middle of the night, all the guys—as well as Melinda—were asleep, and he badly had to pee.
Straining against the soreness in his muscles caused by sleeping so close to the hard floor, Cody forced himself to his feet and hobbled in the direction of the bathroom, which basically was a little box of a room attached to the main building by a shabby, wooden bridge. He walked slowly, cruising along the wall, calculating each step so as not to bump into one of the guys. It was virtually pitch-black but by the time he reached the other end of the factory, his eyes had adjusted well enough for him to be able to open the door.
It was a particularly starry night, and fairly quiet, although Cody could hear various sounds in the distance—cars, dogs, people talking, things to be expected in a city. The abandoned factory was located in an area where these sounds were discernible but faded enough to the point where they weren't overwhelming. Cody liked it—the sensation of being part of society and separated from it at the same time.
He made it across the bridge with ease. After sliding open the bathroom door and walking inside, he reached up to pull the light switch. The light was just a single light bulb that hung from the ceiling and often flickered, but its glow was still enough to make Cody wince.
There were three stalls, each of them empty. Cody went into the first, not even bothering to close or lock the door. As he relieved himself he thought of the nightmare he had just had, how strange it was, and felt what he immediately assumed was a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Absentmindedly he touched his fingers to it and examined them.
His breath caught in his throat. It wasn't sweat—it was blood.
Cody zipped up and flushed the toilet, then hurried over to the mirror which hung on the wall above the rusty sink. It was cracked and in desperate need of cleaning, but Cody could see his reflection. The gashes in his forehead had somehow reopened. Blood oozed through his stitches, trickling down his face, leaving crimson trails across his skin. Cody gazed at them, stupefied, panicked. What was happening to him?
A sharp burst of pain shot through his wrists. He screamed and hunched over, cradling his arms to his chest. The pain was so intense it pounded in his head. Hot, sticky blood seeped through his shirt, droplets of it falling to the floor. A crimson puddle. Cody leaned against the stall he'd just been in and gnashed his teeth, trying not to scream again, instinctively balling his hands into fists against the searing pain.
He tried counting in his head—one, two, three, four—but it wasn't enough to take him out of reality. His wrists were on fire with agony, blood pattering the floor and soaking through his clothes. What if he bled to death? Tears prickled his eyes. He swallowed, reminding himself to breathe. To just breathe. And not scream.
Eventually the pain subsided, lessening to a dull throb, and Cody steadily relaxed. He had no idea what had just happened, or why, but when he held out his wrists and looked at them he saw—to his horror—that they were each pierced by large, gaping holes that went all the way through.
The door to the bathroom slid open. Startled, Cody whirled around to see Peter and Leroy standing in the threshold, staring at him in shock.