Chapter 11: Dawn
Dawn bleeds cranberry-bright through the windshield. Eight a.m. The highway is packed, commuters who won't get to work before nine because of traffic. Thousands of people, all around, life. In nearby cars, Sara sees men and women, dressed crisp for a new day, and they've slept last night, there's hot coffee in their stomachs, and they haven't just been raped.
Lincoln has thawed a little toward her in the past hour. "I'll take the wheel," he offers again, and she knows he means to sound chivalrous.
"You suffered a blow to the head."
"I'm fine."
And maybe she should let him have his way. Let him feel like he's doing something for her, give him at least that. But what about her? What does she have?
She switches on the radio, but it's no help. A concert coming up in a couple of days. Senator Rosales, scheduled to speak at Princeton University tomorrow. Sara tries music instead, but that, too, does little good. Does not take Kellerman out of her thoughts.
With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride
You're toxic, I'm slippin' under
With a taste of a poison paradise—
They take a break at the next exit, even though she knows Lincoln will seize that window to drive. She needs caffeine, food. More than that, she needs to stop by a pharmacy before they get to New York.
Lincoln offers to get breakfast at McDonald's, and she says, "Get me anything. I just need to run a quick errand."
She's worried he'll read into this, that he'll squint at the pharmacy, and that storm will be back in his eyes. But this means nothing to Lincoln. Unsafe sex entails possible STDs, not emergency contraception. Though she loves her brother-in-law, he's not great at putting himself in another person's shoes. Especially if they're tighter and uncomfortable.
The pill costs her forty-five dollars and a glare from the woman who sells it. When Sara asks, "Can I use your bathroom?" The woman denies the pharmacy has one, and Sara marvels that instead of, "Goodbye, have a nice day," the words that leave her mouth are: "Go fuck yourself."
She flees the store faster than if she'd tried to rob it. Disappears in the neighboring McDonald's, where the carnival colors slice at her eyes. But she needs to get something resembling a shower before she sees Michael. The accessible bathroom comes with a sink and Sara takes off her clothes, scrubs every inch of skin. Even the burn mark from Kellerman's ring, an angry brown, which clings to her tights because the wound hasn't closed.
She uses toilet paper to dry herself after her makeshift shower. Raw bursts of laughter soar out of her throat, taking her by surprise.
Her phone buzzes when she's halfway back in her clothes. It's Lincoln.
"Hey," he says. She hears the worry there, the self-loathing. "I, uh—I just wanted to check on you. Are you still at the pharmacy?"
"I'll be right out. Meet you in the parking lot."
The sun has done little to dull the biting cold outside. Sara hugs herself all the way to the car and slithers in the passenger seat.
Lincoln is already down to his third egg McMuffin.
"Hey," he repeats, hopeful. He slides the pack her way, so she can help herself. The food is an offering, more of the little things he can do for her.
She wants to accept. Wants him to feel better.
Yet there is something wrong, unbearable, about the smell of bacon filling the car.
Her scream comes back to her, the one she was not going to let out, the taste of Kellerman's tie and the cushion smothering her and the smell of burning flesh as he pressed the ring into her hip.
Sara hasn't even taken a sandwich from the bag. Hasn't had to. The one Lincoln holds assails her nostrils, her sight. The pink bacon protruding from the buns, fat pearling down its fried edges.
The thought comes in, before she can stop it.
I've been a pig, too.
"What?" Lincoln says.
Sara flings open the car door and her knees give in. The asphalt hits her, tears through her tights, and she retches. There's nothing to vomit, just streaks of saliva and bile, and a tiny blotch of white, bitter mush.
The pill. Damn it.
Lincoln is all over her by now, holding her hair, trying to lift her off the floor, firing questions at her. What can I do? Just tell me, Sara. What can I do?
The words are out before she can help it, "You can go to the pharmacy and get me another morning-after pill."
He turns to stone against her.
Surprised?
Surely he knew, could guess what happened. But there's knowing and knowing. In an instant, she senses the importance of that tenuous denial margin.
Lincoln lets go of her.
Doesn't say anything. Doesn't scream.
A gasp breaks out of her as he punches into the side of the car. Once. Twice. The third time's too much and the vehicle takes in the blow with a deep hunk. Sara acts on instinct and laces her arms around him, her front to his back. A bloody crater has formed in the car's flank.
For a while, they don't move. Sara pays no attention to their surroundings, whoever may see them. But when she opens her eyes, all the cars around them have cleared out. When she unlocks her hands from around his chest, they're so cold it's a wonder she can open the door to the passenger seat. Without a whisper, Lincoln heads toward the pharmacy.
Sara grabs the bag of egg McMuffins, opens the car door and drops it on the asphalt.
Let the animals have it.
Animals can eat other animals.
…
"You took the wrong exit."
Lincoln pays no attention.
"Hey!" Sara says. "We've been over this. I'm not going back to Washington."
His fists flex around the wheel, the skin stretched so taut above his knuckles they threaten to break out.
"You don't want to see that motherfucker writhe in blood and beg for his life?"
"No."
His eyes dart toward her, like she's turned into a math equation.
"Sara, he can't get away with this."
"Jesus."
She should have taken the wheel.
"How can I make this perfectly clear?" she says. "We are going home. To Michael."
"You think Michael would be all right with us just leaving that bastard–"
"No, no, because Michael is never going to know about this. Are you listening to me? I told Kellerman I'd do anything to get Michael back. Anything."
The veins in Lincoln's hands pop out. They're lucky if he doesn't drive them into a tree.
"And that freak just goes on with his life–"
"Tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing."
That throws him off enough to shut him up. He stops the car at the side of the road, where bare trees hold steady against the wind.
"What?"
"Tell me there's anything you wouldn't do to see your brother again, to have him home with us. Where would you draw the line, Linc? Would you lose one arm, both? Look at me."
He does.
"There is no line, no limit to what I would have done to get Michael back. I would have let the whole Senate fuck me, I would have pried him out from the jaws of hell, and you would have been at my side the whole time, neck-deep into this mess. If you'd had to rip the skin off your body to do it, I would have handed you the knife."
His green eyes drill into her. She's talking in a language he doesn't understand. But beyond words, the core of what she means passes from him to her, like crossing wires.
Four years after she held him through his grief and made him start living again, little has changed. They're still two people with nothing in common except for the love of one man, for whom they'd do anything. Anything.
"He'll pay for this," Lincoln says. "One day."
Sara shrugs.
"It really makes no difference to you? He can just go on to win elections, act like everything he touches turns to gold?"
"Oh, he's paying. Not enough. It's never gonna be enough."
The words bring bitterness to her mouth. There are some victories that don't taste sweet, no matter how well planned out. And this one will not taste sweet to Kellerman.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Guilt."
Lincoln rolls his eyes. Maybe he thought she'd left a bomb in his office or something. "Fuck me, his feelings are bruised? That really does settle it, Sara."
"When I was a kid, Bruce read me a story about how a swarm of rats can overcome even a giant."
"That's rich."
"Shut up, will you? It's a nice story."
His jaw squares—it's astonishing it can get even squarer. But he humors her. He'd do a dancing routine if that's what it took to humor her right this instant.
And though it's got to be the last thing he wants, he says, "Tell me the story."
"I don't remember it all that well."
The way each breath makes his chest swell, she wonders if it will get out without causing him to explode. Still he stays silent.
"It's about a giant who sits on top of a city. Blocks the exit, has everyone call him king, and eats all of those who don't bend the knee."
"That is some book to read to your kids."
"Right. He tolerates no rebels, man, woman or child. Even the animals must yield. The only ones he overlooks are the rats. To a giant, they're like flies, completely insignificant."
Lincoln stares at the road, gripping the wheel even though the car has stopped. "Do the rats eat him?"
"The rats eat him," Sara says. "I don't really care either way. About revenge."
As the words fill the car, her gut clenches, and she knows she's told a lie. But it's a small lie, and right at this moment, it's a necessary one.
"When I left Kellerman," she says, "I have this feeling that I've left him with a rat. Maybe he'll just ignore it at first, but it'll follow him to the Senate. It'll follow him home. It'll follow him to bed and wherever he goes. And soon that rat, no matter how small and insignificant, will be all he sees, day or night. All he thinks about. And when it's done its absolute worse, chewed out bits of his life and taken all the flavor out of it, that rat is going to eat him alive."
Lincoln waits, five seconds, then ten, to make sure she's done. Finally, he says, "That doesn't sound as good as making him eat his balls."
"Can you promise me everything that happened in Washington will stay between us?"
His eyes meet hers. "Shit, Sara."
"Promise me."
"Yeah. I promise."
…
End Notes: On my side of things, this fic still feels like a free therapy session. It's also doing a lot for me, from a creative standpoint. Hopefully you all are enjoying it. Just to point out the lyrics from the song in the chapter are from Britney Spears' "Toxic". Not sure this was worth mentioning, but just in case some of you don't know that epic song, go listen to it. Take care!