Chapter Seven
"Sam."
Once more Stephen slapped her across her cheek, wincing at the sound of flesh meeting flesh but unlike the other two times there was no response this time and hastily he reached forward pressing his fingers to her neck, holding his breath as he waited for the flutter of her heartbeat beneath his fingertips.
"Thank God," he whispered once more as it came to him, not strong and sure, but low and slow. Some part of him knew that she was slipping away, little by little and the thought of losing her filled him with a fear that couldn't be named.
"I'm not gonna let you die," he whispered, uncertain whether or not in her current state she could even hear him, just needing to make this vow yet again. The problem was he had no idea how to keep this from happening and with a growing sense of frustration he pulled himself back through the missing windshield of the rental car and cast a scan yet again around the clearing.
"Did I ever tell you I was a Ranger Scout?" He asked aloud, as his eyes came to rest on the twisted remains of his jag. In his mind's eye he conjured up a mental picture of where precisely his cell phone might be amidst the damage. It had rung for the last time nearly a half hour before, fifteen rings and he'd simply listened to the sound thinking it ironic all the times he had heard his cell phone go off and cursed it as an intrusion.
"It was my father's idea, me being a ranger scout. He…he kept telling me it would be a good experience for me, character building was how I think he put it and basically, what it was was a bunch of kids sitting around a plastic fire every Wednesday, tying knots and learning which side the moss grew on trees."
As he spoke Stephen began crawling, dragging his legs behind him as if they were merely attached but not really a part of him which, unfortunately, was precisely how they had come to feel, useless, worthless, wooden, and completely without life. He hadn't bothered to examine these sensations in a long time and as he slowly made his way from Sam's car and toward his own, he quickly decided to continue ignoring the possibilities of the bleak future his unfeeling limbs might mean for him.
"Anyway, once a year the Ranger Scouts had this huge jamboree, groups from all over the county met at this campground outside the city and during this get together we got to show all the skills we had learned since the last year, stuff like building shelters out of branches, starting fires without the aid of matches, foraging for food."
Inch by inch he crept forward, keeping his sights upon the chrome bumper of his car, a bumper he had paid a hefty amount for as it had not been standard, had been considered a part of the luxury package.
"I was rubbish when it came to nearly everything. I couldn't get my fire to go, my shelters always collapsed, and nine times out of ten when I picked berries while we were foraging they were the kind you weren't supposed to eat. I had explosive diarrhea for nearly a week after one jamboree." He laughed a little at this, remembering that he had gotten a week off of school because of it. "So I decided to quit," he continued to speak, telling the tale for his own amusement as much as Sam's. "I told my Dad I was done, that I wasn't going back, wasn't wasting any more time with the Ranger Scouts and let me explain my father to you, because I don't really think, thus far that I have spoken of him that much."
Stephen paused, wiping at his brow with his hand and immediately regretting that as his wounded forehead began to sting from the perspiration.
"Of my parents, my father was the quiet one. He seldom spoke, rarely corrected me, he left the disciplining to my mum as well as the lectures. So when he did speak I knew to listen because it meant more coming from him. Know what I mean?"
Again Stephen paused, this time to cast a glance back toward the rental car, unable to help but feel disappointed as he found he had, despite his efforts, only gone no more than a few feet away from it in the direction of his own wrecked auto.
"Anyway I don't remember exactly what he said word for word but it was somewhere along the lines of it being easier to quit than to persevere and how before long quitting became a habit. I don't know…but it was meant to motivate me nonetheless and…."
Stephen paused for a moment, glancing back toward Sam's car once more. He had only gone a little bit further than the last time he had looked and yet he couldn't help himself but to turn back as suddenly he was filled with the notion that she had passed on, that he would crawl back and place his fingers on her neck and this time there would be pulse whatsoever.
"I quit anyway," he continued with the story, in spite of the lump of dread that had risen inside of him and now threatened to choke the very life from him. "I…pretended to go to the meetings but …instead I spent that hour hiding out in our shed, eating chocolate bars and reading comics."
He was crying now, unable to help himself, torn between wanting to crawl back to check on Sam and wanting to reach his car though he had yet to figure how he was going to pull himself up long enough to actually search for and locate the cell phone.
"I kept up with the lie for nearly a month," he pushed forward, brushing absently at the tears on his face as he ignored his insistent need to go back and check on Sam, quickly deciding one way or another the phone needed to be found and under the circumstances, considering how weak he was beginning to feel, this might be his only chance. "Before long it came time for the jamboree and I was beside myself trying to figure out what I was going to do. I mean hiding out in the shed was all well and good for an hour or so at a time, but there was no way I could do it for three days." Once more he paused, this time to catch his breath and he forced himself to look only toward the jag that suddenly loomed above him like a shiny idol of worship.
"My mum packed my bags, all my gear, my sleeping bags etc. Then my father told me to get in the car, that he would drive me to where the buses were to pick up the scouts. So there I am in the front seat, sweating bullets as he pulls away from our house, knowing the trip should only take a few moments and that once we arrived there the entire lie I had been living for nearly a month was going to blow up in my face."
Stephen had reached the car and for several long minutes he merely lay there, breathing hard from the effort of dragging himself, staring up at the underbelly of his vehicle.
"I was scared, petrified, which is probably why it took me so long to notice that instead of making the turn toward where the buses were my father had gone the other way."
A quick glance around offered nothing of help for Stephen and with a sigh he looked once more toward the jag above him, extending his arm toward the custom chrome bumper.
"We were about twenty minutes away from our house by the time I took a long look around."
"Where are we?" He had asked his father, who had only smiled back at him saying nothing. "Dad, where we going?" Again his father had remained silent and Stephen could recall the taste of his own fear as his father drove them further and further away from the city, into the country, into an area of England that was rough and secluded.
"I guess by then I was starting to think that my dad had lost his mind, that somehow he had learned about the lie and was taking me out to kill me or something." He laughed at his own words as began to pull himself from the ground, sweating profusely now.
"My dad was the kindest gentlest man who ever lived. He wouldn't even hurt a fly, so that should tell you how wildly out of control my imagination was by that point. Before long he pulls off the main road and into the trees, then stops all together, getting out of the car without so much as a word."
Even before it happened, Stephen could feel his hand beginning to slip off the bumper. He reached up with the other, grasping the cold chrome but it was no use and roughly he landed back on the ground jarring his head in such a way that for several seconds his vision swam and nausea welled up inside of him.
"I just sat there frozen in my seat, breathing hard, my heart pounding as he walks around to my side of the car and opens my door staring at me long and hard for several seconds, then he says…"
"Get your gear out Stephen and make camp."
"I didn't ask any questions, I just scrambled out, grabbed my stuff and started doing precisely what he asked, making camp. Within no time I had erected a lean to, started a fire, even gathered water from the nearby stream and the entire time my dad is just standing there watching me."
Once more Stephen made a grab for the bumper, locking on to it and beginning to pull with everything he had inside of him. He felt the muscles of his arm strain, but he held on, dragging himself up from the ground and planting his feet.
"When I was done, when I had finished doing as he asked, he walks over and kneels in front of me and gives me this smile and that's when I broke. I just…started crying and before long I had babbled out the whole story about me quitting the scouts and hiding out in the shed and when I was done I looked at him and he was still smiling. That's when I realized that he knew all along."
Slowly and carefully Stephen lurched forward on legs that seemed to be beyond his body's control. He held to the car as if it meant his very life and in some ways he was certain it did.
"What was harder Stephen, Ranger Scouts or living with a lie?"
"The lie I told him," Stephen said through clenched teeth as he had reached the window of the jag or at least the empty hole where the window had once been. The inside of his vehicle looked scarcely marred which seemed impossible considering all the other damage the vehicle had suffered. Within seconds he spotted the phone lying on the floorboard of the passenger side and made a grab at it, brushing it with the tops of his fingers and nearly toppling himself in the process. For several seconds after this initial attempt he merely stood there gathering his strength, what little he had left and preparing himself for one more chance as he was certain, absolutely certain, that that was all he had left in him, one more chance.
"Now or never," he mumbled to himself finally, and with a deep breath he again made a grab for the phone, this time closing his fingers around it so tightly he was almost certain he would crush the tiny device in the process. But he didn't, and the instant his arm cleared the window he collapsed yet again to the ground, exhaling the breath he had been holding.
A quick scan told him he was low on battery power, though not so low that he truly needed to worry about this. It also told him that he had seven missed calls, all from the same number, one he couldn't immediately place. With shaking hands he punched in the three numbers that might mean Sam's and his very life, waiting as he heard it ring, once then twice.
"911 emergency response."
"We've had an accident," he began, and before long he found himself babbling nearly incoherently as he looked toward Sam's rental car.
"Where exactly are you Mr. Morgan?" The operator asked him, and he sighed softly, running a hand over his tear stained face.
"I…I can't say for certain," he said, explaining as best as he could about the rural road and the fact that they had gone off the side.
"Sit tight sir, help is on the way."
He hung up after that and immediately began to crawl back toward the rental car, a little frightened as to what he might find once he got there, certain that Sam was dead.
"Sam," he whispered as he crawled back through the broken windshield, lifting a hand to touch her face, the skin of which was chilled slightly. "Sam," he said once more, emotions breaking through and making themselves known in his voice.
"So…how'd it end?" She suddenly asked in a low voice, her eyes never opening.
"How'd what end?" He cried, relieved to hear her speak, more relieved than he had ever been before in his life.
"That day…with your father, the camping?" Slowly she looked at him then and whatever strength and resolve he might have had left crumbled and broke inside of him. It was a truly beautiful sight, her eyes fixing on him, inside them the spark of life though dim somehow not yet extinguished.
"We spent the entire weekend out there, just my dad and I and when we returned home my father told my mum I was done with the ranger scouts, that I had passed all the tests I needed to pass."
"Your dad…sounds like a good man," she whispered, a fresh line of blood appearing from her lips and making its way up the side of her face.
"He was…he is. There are a million people in this world that others consider heroes, but…if I had my wish, if I could be like anyone, I would give all I have to be half the man that he is."
"You…sell yourself too short Stephen," she stated softly.
Once again Stephen lifted a hand in her direction, this time wiping away the blood from the side of her mouth, his hand brushing back her hair as well.
"I…I called for help," he told her. "Someone should be here shortly…you just…you need to hang on Sam. Can you do that?'
"I'm trying," she assured him, and he knew she was, knew it was taking everything she had just to keep her eyes open, just to keep herself awake and semi alert.
"Tell me something Sam, earlier, right before you passed out you said you paid a visit to the past but you were back now. Where…where did you go?"
A smile crossed her lips as she closed her eyes for several minutes before finally opening them yet again.
""I…I went home," she said. "The last place that truly felt like home to me that is"
"Tell me about it," Stephen urged her, wanting to keeping her talking, needing to hear her voice, to know that she was there with him at least for the time being.
"Not…not much to tell really," she stated. "It wasn't much of a house, nothing big, nothing grand. Dan and I…well he called it our starter house. He had all sorts of plans as to how he wanted it to look… repairs he was going to make, new carpets, wallpaper, stuff like that. He… never got around to much, but…it was a nice place anyway, warm, homey." She paused looking past him it seemed, into the distance, to a place he couldn't see, to a memory he could have privy to but never truly understand. "Anyway…we, lived there until after Sabrina…then…we sold it or rather Dan sold it. What I was remembering was one of the last moments we shared as a family."
Stephen suddenly found the hand of time turning backwards inside of him, back to before Cecily had fallen ill, back to before Nathan had considered him a stranger who shared a name and very little else. There weren't many moments that the three of them had shared that might be considered the family type, fond and warm, but there were a few, a couple at least and for a time he found himself dwelling on them, not the events that brought them about but the feelings that went along with them, the sensation of being a part of something that was bigger, much bigger than anything he would ever be alone.
"I think… the hardest part of losing someone Stephen isn't remembering all the things that you shared in the past… it's thinking instead of all the moments that might have been," Sam whispered, reaching out with her hand to take his.
"Yeah, I think you are right on that," he responded.
"If…if I die here tonight Stephen," he looked at her then, feeling horrified that she would say this, even more horrified by the fact that he could almost imagine it happening as she was that bad off, that damaged. "If I die here," she said once more. "You will be my biggest regret."
"What do you mean?" He whispered softly, already sensing the answer but needing to hear her say it, needing to hear her speak the words aloud.
"What if," she continued, smiling in a weary, almost exhausted way. "How many times in your if have you asked yourself that question, what if?"
He didn't have to think hard to find the answer to this. Everyday, for a thousand different reasons, he had posed this query in his mind though more often than not he had done so only as a means of further punishing himself for his own failings and foibles.
"It…it always seems though that we ask in regards to the bad things. What if I had done something differently, what if I had said this or that, what if I hadn't made that choice, or gone to that place, or…took that turn…"
"…answered that call, took my eyes from the road, been in such of a hurry?" He interjected his own what ifs into her list.
"Maybe, with you, for the first time ever I could have asked the question what if and the answers would have been possibilities instead of…"
"…regrets," he finished for her, finally seeing the point that she had been attempting to make, seeing it so clearly in fact that after a time he had to force himself to look elsewhere.
"I wish we had met before this moment." he stated softly, without hesitation, without the need to think on it further. In the hours they had shared, hours they had both suffered through mentally and physically, speaking to Sam had awoken him in ways that he was absolutely certain he would never again be awoken. He had begun to examine his life, to closely look at it, flaws and all, forcing himself to see the places where he had been lacking, the parts where he had failed.
"Destiny works in mysterious ways," she stated with a soft smile.
"I haven't always been a happy man Sam, as you have no doubt gathered," he told her, gripping her hand tightly in his own. "I pretended to be, because that's what I do, I pretend." He paused, taking a deep breath before meeting her gaze once more. "But…the truth is, the real truth I bury deep inside me, is that I am but a shell, empty, hollow, lacking at times… most times."
"Again I think you sell yourself too short." she whispered.
"No…not on this I don't," he stated seriously. "It's easy, really easy to let tragedy drain the very will to live from you. I know that, you know that as well."
To this she said nothing, merely averted her eyes for a moment before turning back to him once more.
"And once it's gone or at least buried too deeply to feel, existing, merely sleepwalking through every day becomes as normal to one as breathing. That's…that's what I have been doing you know…sleepwalking. I might have continued to do so for the rest of my days had it not been for this…our fateful meeting and…you."
She chucked a little at this, before falling silent once more, her eyes fluttering as if they were weighted and nearly too heavy for her to keep open.
"Stay with me Sam," he told her in a low voice, and for a moment he was uncertain if she had even heard him, but a faint glimmer of a smile crossed her lips and once more her eyes opened to fix upon him.
"I am trying Stephen," she assured him, and he nodded his head slightly, instantly regretting this.
"I know you are, which makes you one of the strongest people I have ever known, as strong as Cecily ever was."
"Tell me something else Stephen, something like that story about your dad, something a little more uplifting than what we have been discussing for much of the night."
"I have a tattoo," he blurted out, and she opened her eyes yet again. "No one knows about that. Cecily was the only person who ever saw it and trust me I have gone to great lengths to keep it hidden from everyone else."
"Where is it?" She asked.
"On my bum," he told her, pleased by the laughter these words pulled from her.
"What's the tattoo?"
"I'm gonna tell you, but promise me first you won't hurt yourself laughing once I have."
"Alright, I promise," she responded, and Stephen sighed softly.
"It says…your name," he told her, waiting for her reaction to this.
"What do you mean it says my name?"
"It says your name…not Sam, but the words, your name." She began to laugh then, just as he had expected she would and for several seconds he let it wash over him, memorizing it, wanting never to forget what it sounded like though he refused to allow himself to admit just why it was he felt the need to do this.
"Why on earth would you get something like that on your ass? And why haven't you had it lasered off?"
"I was a kid, fifteen I think, drunk , at a party, and this guy starts talking about his skills as a tattoo artist. Anyway one thing lead to another and the next thing I know I was waking up with a plaster on my ass cheek and beneath it was your name."
"And you kept it why?"
"To remind myself of how stupid and out of control I once was and never want to be again."
Before he realized it, he had ventured back into territory he had been hoping to avoid and even before Sam spoke once more he already had a sense as to what she was going to ask him.
"How long were you an alcoholic?" She asked, and he sighed softly once more.
"I'm still an alcoholic Sam. Alcoholism is the gift that keeps on giving unfortunately. Even if I never touch another drop it will always be with me. But I stopped drinking about two years ago, thanks to Stuart."
"Ah Stuart again."
"Yeah Stuart again. He saw through what no one else had or what everyone else chose not to."
"I know what's going on Stephen and you can stand there and lie to my face if you want to, it won't change anything, because I know you better than I know myself."
It had been a difficult moment for Stephen, as difficult as any he had faced before save for Cecily's death and the days following Nathan's dismissal. There he'd been face to face with the only person who had truly stuck by him through every heartbreak, triumph, tragedy and joy in his life, the only person he had allowed to be there in truth. Admitting to him he had a problem wasn't easy for Stephen and Stuart hadn't made any attempt at making any less difficult. Tough love he had called it and it had worked.
"You think you have it all under control, that you can handle it and maybe in some ways you can. But look at what it's doing to you Stephen, seriously. Take a good long look at yourself in the mirror and I'm not talking about the face you see there, I'm talking about the soul that lies beneath. You are rotting from the inside out and it's just a matter of time before the decay shows itself to everyone.
"Fuck you Stuart, it isn't all that bad," he had argued with his friend, not because the words he spoke weren't true, but because by then being a drunk and keeping it under wraps were things Stephen felt secure in, one of the only things he was absolutely certain he could do without having to try all that hard.
"You're right, it isn't all that bad I suppose. I mean, it's not as if you have any reason to live for am I right? I mean Cecily's gone, Nathan's elsewhere, your career has reached a point where you could step in shit and win an Emmy for it. Everyone loves you Stephen and because of that the fact that you are an alcoholic doesn't really matter to any of them. They'll accept it, embrace it , even if you dropped dead tomorrow, who cares am I right? At least you'll die doing what you want to do, being what you want to be, because this is what you want Stephen right? You want to spend whatever time you have left chained to a bottle, craving the oblivion it brings you, aching with the need for it, pretending to control it, when in truth it controls you."
"I punched Stuart for that," Stephen admitted, feeling his face warm at the thought of that moment. It was rock bottom for him, the lowest point in which one person could fall and still be able to pull himself back up and climb out. "I think it was hitting him more so than anything he said that made me realize how right he was. After that, I checked myself into a clinic. It was the single most difficult thing I had ever had to do, but afterwards when I walked out of there, clean for the first time in years, I realized that numbing the pain hadn't made it go away, it had only left me numb. Know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I do," she assured him softly. "I take it Stuart forgave you for hitting him."
"Oh yeah. Stuart's not one to hold a grudge. He just hit me back one day out of the blue and after that he considered us even."
"I think I like this Stuart, rational and practical, not to mention a little violent."
"He's a great guy. I'll introduce the two of you after…." he paused, looking at her, at the smile on her face that told him she didn't truly believe there was going to be a later for anything. For the time being he left it alone, just overlooked it.
"Tell me Stephen, what's it like?" She asked after a few moments of complete silence had passed between them.
"What's what like?"
"Being a star, what's it like?"
"I'm not a star Sam, stars possess a light and a beauty that lives on long after they themselves fade away. I'm merely an actor."
"I lied to you about something else, I have seen you in one of your movies."
Stephen was surprised to find this admittance embarrassed him and not for the reasons he was certain it should have. Usually when he was recognized, he was embarrassed merely because after all the years of being an actor, some part of him was still thrilled by the fact that total strangers thought they knew him. Hearing Sam say this embarrassed him in ways he had never felt before. Much of what he did, the characters he played, the roles he chose were selected not because they were going to move mountains or stir people's souls but simply because they would be drawn to the theaters. Being an actor, when it came right down to it, wasn't about interpreting life it was about making people forget for a time that life even existed. It all came down to the money much of the time, the willingness of the general public to shell out their hard earned cash for a chance to put aside their problems and worries for a short time.
"Which movie was it?" He asked, uncertain whether or not he wanted to truly know.
"I can't really remember the name of it right now, but I do know it was a comedy, had to do with a bank heist or something."
He remembered the role and found himself blushing all the more.
"Why do I get the feeling I have just embarrassed you?" Sam asked, and he looked at her wanting to laugh off these words but unable to do so.
"I can do better than that," he stated seriously.
"I didn't say it was a bad movie," she assured him hastily.
"No, I did. It was a bad movie, a little too cheeky, a little to lighthearted. That…that wasn't the type of movie I set out to do when I dreamed about being an actor."
"So…why then?"
"You really do ask some difficult questions you know," he teased her lightly, though it wasn't entirely teasing.
"Sorry."
"Let me ask you something before I attempt an answer. You said you published one book that was crap and the second one you were working on before this trip was most likely crap as well. If you know, or at least believe you can do better, then why not simply do it? Why bother putting crap on paper at all?"
Sam averted her eyes at this seeming to think on it for a time and silently Stephen waited, absolutely certain that once she answered he would have his answer as well.
"Because writing crap as you so eloquently put it, is easier than reaching deep inside of myself and pulling out thoughts and feeling that are too difficult for me to face."
He gave her a look that no doubt said exactly and in response she smiled a little.
"I have it in me Sam, just as you no doubt have it in you, to do precisely what we haven't done thus far…move mountains and stir souls. Some part of us is afraid am I right, afraid of waking those demons, afraid of stirring the giant, just…afraid."
"Touché, I guess I had that one coming."
"Other than the fact that the movie you saw was superfluous and basically a fluff piece, what was your opinion?" He teased, causing her to laugh once more.
"Other than that, it was wonderful."
"Which is kind of like saying after you've been shot, other than this big smoking hole in my chest, I'm just fine," he stated, using his earlier thought.
"You can do better Stephen and I can't help but think that after this, you will."
But Stephen wasn't as certain of this as she seemed to be. In fact some part of him had already begun to think about getting out of the game, leaving it behind, moving on or perhaps back to a life that had a little more meaning. He was thinking now of Nathan, more so than he had in the past nine years and for the first time, in a very long time, he found himself wanting to know the young man the small boy had become.
"He at least deserves the chance to hate you." Sam's words came back to him from their earlier conversation and some part of him had agreed with them then and even more so in recollect. He did deserve the right to hate him and maybe that was all he ever would do, but having himself be hated by his child, by Cecily's child might be a lot better than having himself be but a shadow, a part of a past that Nathan couldn't and didn't want to recall.
"Your turn to tell me a story," Stephen stated, after pulling his self away from these thoughts of his son and the future that hung before him like a great question mark, uncertain for the first time in a long time.
"Sam," he turned to her when only silence followed his words and found her eyes had closed yet again. Hastily he reached forward and pressed fingers to the spot on her neck, exhaling shakily as he felt a pulse beneath his touch, again it as faint, slow and light, but there nonetheless.
"Sam," he called to her once more, wanting only to see her eyes yet again and as if on cue her lashes fluttered and she turned her gaze to him once more.
"Your turn to tell me a story," he said, oblivious to the tears on his cheek.
"I…I'm not sure I got another story in me," she admitted, beginning to drift off once more.
"You have, I know you have," he insisted, and once again she looked at him.
"I'm…afraid I'm dying Stephen."
