Gorgeous Misery (Creeping Beautiful)

“Oh, fuck,” Harrison says.

Merc actually grabs his stomach. Like he’s gonna get sick.

“Don’t worry, Merc. Trust me, if your kids had those injections, they’d have died years ago like the others.”

His relatively calm expression turns into panic. “The others?” It’s not a good look for him.

“I’m not being callous here, but the whole let’s-kill-the-Company-for-good take-three operation, AKA the estate massacre that went down a few years back, actually worked. For the most part. But there was a lot of collateral damage.”

There is a sudden heaviness in the room with us as Merc and Harrison try to picture what this might’ve looked like. I’m sure they are seeing Santa Barbara in their minds. Or Kansas. But neither of those two attempts even come close to what happened during the estate incident.

I look down at my feet. I don’t need to try to picture it. I was there.

And so was Wendy.

Seventeen days before Gwendolyn Gale turned seventeen, something horrific happened. Something none of us thought she’d come back from.

But I pulled her through.

She’s still here.

And she’s gonna stay here.

I don’t care what I have to do to make that happen, I will never stop looking for Wendy’s cure.

When I look back up, both Merc and Harrison are sitting at the little table in front of the window. Heads in hands.

Reality, man. It bites.

Merc looks up. “So what’s this have to do with me?” I don’t answer him right away. I wait until his panic is juuust about to turn into anger.

Then I say, “I’m not sure, Merc. But you know who is sure?”

“Carter,” Harrison says.

“Carter,” I agree. “What you need to be concerned about, Merc, is the trigger. Daphne is coming up on that age, right? You need to find out how the trigger works and you need to save Donovan so you can get that information out of Carter. You need to save that fucking dumbass if only so you can get peace of mind.”

Merc sighs and resumes holding his head in his hands. “What do I have to do?”

“You know better than I do, brother. Whatever it is you do when you’re inside their heads.” I don’t want to say the next part. I want to play it cool. But I can’t help myself. “Is that what you’re doing to Wendy right now?”

He nods.

“And you left her alone?” Again, I don’t want to say this. And I really do not want that edge creeping into my voice. This entire situation is precarious and this man right here is the key to everything. But I’m angry about what he’s done to Wendy. And worried, too.

Even though I know Wendy is capable of handling just about anything, and she’s nothing like Indie Anna, she’s been teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown since Chek died. That’s why she works so hard. That’s why we don’t see each other too much. I’m not just a reminder of what happened that day, I’m a trigger too. I don’t think Donovan or Carter did that to her. How could they know she and I would grow close like this? So I don’t think it’s personal. But the risk is still there.

Even though I like the fact that whatever Merc is doing he’s doing it at my house, that place is a beartrap of past memories for Wendy. And I want to see her. I need to hold her in my arms very soon or I’m gonna be the one losing my mind.

Finally Merc looks up again. “She’s OK. I have her on a very safe maintenance cocktail. And we’ve only been gone”—he checks his phone-—“an hour and fifty minutes.”

“Well, I did my part. Don’t you agree?” Merc doesn’t answer me, so I assume he does. “Take me to her. Now.”

Harrison is the one who actually gets up, not Merc. “I’m ready. He’s right, Merc. We need to get back. Come on.” He grabs Merc’s shoulder and squeezes. This is when I realize that Harrison isn’t just some pilot who flies Sasha and Merc around when they need to get somewhere fast. He’s a friend. He’s been there since—well, fuck. Since I was eighteen years old. He’s been there for all of it.

Merc gets to his feet, but he’s not the same guy who walked in the door. Before this little conversation Merc was a man who was sure of himself and his place in this world. He was in control. He was handling shit. And he’s been doing a damn good job. So I hate that I’m the reason he feels defeated right now.

I’ve been there. I have felt that way about Lauren more times than I can count and even though I haven’t even seen my daughter since she was six, that sense of defeat—no, failure—it doesn’t go away. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ doesn’t apply to this situation at all.