CHAPTER 2

Sean

Pain. The only thought I could muster was pain. In my bones, coursing through my veins, in every cell of my being. Pain. I tried to open my eyes. More pain.

"Here–he's coming–he's waking up." My mother's voice was far, it sounded like she was under water. I forced my eyes to blink open, everything was fuzzy.

"Tracker, go have Doctor Lancit paged." I heard my mother again, but my eyes couldn't find her.

"Sean, Sean!" Suddenly, her face was an inch from mine.

"Geez, get outta his face, Mom." I heard Tracker from across the room. My mother didn't move; I wished she'd listen to him.

"Can you hear me, Sean? Do you see me?" She was so anxious. What the hell was going on? I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry and gritty.

"He's gone blind!" She cried. I felt her fingers on my forehead and it hurt.

"He's not blind, he's looking right at you," Tracker said.

My mother's eyes peered into mine.

"Hey," I whispered and my throat set on fire. She sobbed and took a step back. Suddenly, a bright light shined in my right eye, then quickly into my left. It hurt.

"Sean, do you know who I am?" I heard the doctor's calm voice. I gave a slight nod. I didn't dare try talking again.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked. With pain like this, I sure as hell better be in a hospital. With my head, I communicated affirmative again.

"Good. Sean, we put you in a medically induced coma ten days ago."

What? Why?

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked slowly.

No. Nothing. Just pain and confusion.

"Okay," he said and I heard papers shuffling.

"Are you in pain?" he asked. I nodded again and heard my mother start with fresh sobs. "We'll get you something for that." I felt a slight tug on my hand as a tube connected to it was moved. The room was silent. Within minutes, my pain began to fade. I could still feel its presence, but it was duller somehow.

Someone brought a straw to my lips.

"Do you want to try to drink?" my mother asked. I did. It was relieving and painful at the same time.

"What?" I whispered, hoping they'd understand.

"Sean, I'm going to briefly run through your injuries…do not get worked up. You will be ok, you're going to recover," Doctor Lancit said.

It was odd he said that, the thought that I could be dying never crossed my mind.

"Your left leg is broken in several places, you have three broken ribs on the left side, your left lung has been punctured, your left wrist is broken…there was some brain swelling, but fortunately it subsided on its own…it's a miracle that the only internal injury was the lung…which we repaired with surgery."

He was so matter of fact that it took me a moment to realize…I was broken.

This was bad.

But how?

"You're going to be ok, Sean," said my mother, breathlessly. She sounded like she was trying to believe it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cameron," I heard Dr. Lancit say. "Can I speak with you in the hall?"

My mother kissed my forehead and I felt her tears wet my skin.

"Let him rest, Tracker," I heard my father say. Then they were gone.

I saw Tracker at the foot of the bed. My big brother was here. I didn't know how or why he suddenly decided to show up, but at least he was here. He looked very tired.

"Is it bad?" he asked.

I nodded.

He stared.

"God, you look like shit," he said. "You scared the piss out of me." I saw him wipe his eye on his sleeve.

"What?" I asked. He knew what I meant, and I knew he couldn't lie.

"I…I'm not supposed to…I should let you rest."

"Tracker," I whispered and I hoped he could hear the desperation in my voice.

He looked at me for a long moment.

"It was that fucking train."

Train? I got hit by a train? I couldn't focus my mind.

"Look, take it easy…just–" he jumped in when he saw my confusion.

"No…train?"

"It got hit…and it derailed," he said quietly and I saw him shudder.

"Tracker," My father's voice rang out quietly but sharply.

"He's asking…and I won't lie to him," Tracker said, unapologetically.

"You need to rest, Sean." The doctor ordered after he returned. "In the morning we'll run some tests and get a clearer picture of what it going on."

"Train?" But even as I was asking, something in my mind clicked.

Train.

Emma and I can take a train home.

Manny's shopping.

Vegas.

Chapel.

Mrs. Cameron.

Emma.

My heart started to pound in my chest and I felt my eyes go wide with panic.

"Emma." My breathing was too loud.

"Sean, you have to calm down, or I'm going to have to sedate you."

"Emma." I looked at Tracker, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Sean, right now we need to focus on your recovery. You have a very long road ahead of you…" I let his words fade out.

Something was very wrong.

I noticed my mother looking out the window, her back was to me and her shoulders were trembling.

"Say it," I said, trying to make my voice sound strong.

My mind was racing. I envisioned her, broken, like me. Paralysis? Amputated limbs? Disfiguring scars? It didn't matter. We'd come through this together. Whatever it was, I'd get her through. She would be fine. We'd both be fine.

My father pulled up a chair to my bedside. Tracker walked out of the room. My mother didn't move a muscle. I turned my head to look at my father. For the first time in my life, he looked scared.

He swallowed hard and began to speak.

"Just outside of Las Vegas, near an Indian reservation, a semi truck hit the train you and…you were on. The train derailed. There was a lot of damage….a fire. There were only three survivors, Sean. You are one of them."

I blinked. I didn't understand.

"Where is she?" I managed.

My father looked at me, waiting. For what, I wasn't sure.

"The other two survivors are a 45 year old man and his twelve year old daughter."

He looked at me carefully.

"You are the only three that survived."

Oh.

Suddenly, my mother's hands were on my face. She was crying.

"I'm so sorry, baby, so sorry," she sobbed.

"Wait. What?"

"She's gone," I heard my father say.

Gone? Gone where?

"Sean…she died."

Then it was like a dam broke.

My stomach clenched painfully and I started to gag. My father raised the hospital bed to a sitting position while I wretched and dry heaved, but nothing would come. I couldn't feel the pain in my body anymore; I couldn't feel anything. I was faintly aware of the grotesque noises coming from me. My parents were on either side of me, grasping my limp, heavy hands. My breaths started to shake my body violently.

"James…he's…help him!" I heard my mother's panicked voice.

Moments later my body was calmer, but my mind was still exploding…just slower. Then everything went dark.

When I woke, the room was dark except for a dim light above my head. I flopped my head and saw Tracker sitting in a chair in the corner, his head in his hands.

"She died," I said quietly, praying that Tracker couldn't confirm it. He looked up from the floor and met my eyes.

"Yeah."

"She's my wife," I said, as if that could resurrect her.

"Yes."

"I don't–I can't really feel it. I can't make myself believe it."

Tracker shook his head.

"Tell me," I said.

"Sean, I can't even–I don't even get it yet and I've been conscious the past ten days."

"Tell me," I said again. I wanted to know.

"It's bad. We thought…look, the train went flying everywhere…in pieces. There was a fire…a fuel truck hit the train. I saw the wreckage, I had to. It's…you can't even tell…nobody should have survived that."

I shook my head. He knew what I wanted.

"There was a funeral six days ago. Emma's father just didn't want to prolong it. We didn't know if…we weren't sure if you'd be ok when you woke up or if you'd be a veg–…we just didn't know. It was awful. A ton of people came. Her mom just…isn't doing well. I've never seen so many flowers at a funeral–"

"Stop." I couldn't hear anymore.

The next eleven weeks in the hospital were slow and numb.

I went through the motions of physical therapy.

Manny would come by everyday and cry, though we never said much to each other. We held hands and she would sob while I lay there, not thinking about anything at all.

Toby and Liberty came in shifts. She would open the blinds and ramble about work or a movie while I didn't bother pretending to listen. Toby didn't say much, we'd usually just stare at the glowing television. Occasionally, he'd help me up and supported me while I practiced hobbling down the quiet hallways.

Jay would come and we'd play cards or just sit.

Of course, my parents hovered constantly. Tracker hadn't shown up again since the night I'd woken up. Thankfully, he probably knew I'd get too many visitors anyway.

Everyone seemed to be waiting, myself included. For what, I don't know. A breakdown? A miracle? Emma? But it never came and nobody ever spoke of it.

During my eleventh week in the hospital, there were rumblings of my release. I hadn't given much thought to getting out. I wasn't anxious to leave. I didn't want to stay, either. It didn't matter where I was; nothing was waiting for me when I got out.

My mother walked in briskly one morning, smiling.

"Today's the day," she beamed. "I've got your room all ready, I set you up in the den. I know you'd be more comfortable in your room, but with the stairs I thought–"

"What?"

"You're coming home today."

"Home. My home." Suddenly, it mattered. A lot.

"Sean, don't be ridiculous. You'll stay with–"

"No. I want to go home."

"Darling, it will be much easier–"

"Please," I said, raising my casted hand. She looked torn, though she shouldn't have. There was no choice to make.

"Okay. But I'm staying."

Fine. It didn't matter.