Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

RYAN

 

By the time I wake up again, I'm already tired of sleeping. My body's starting to hurt. It feels like it's eating itself, and my muscles protest every time I try to move. My head still feels fuzzy, and memories still come at a premium.

The past few days build themselves out behind me in the moments after I awaken. This time, there's less commotion around me waking up, I guess. I don't know where Agent Ball is, but I can't imagine that he's gone far if he's waiting on me.

I look over at Davis. She still looks like she hasn't moved. The thought occurs to me finally that she may not be allowed to; she did, after all, aid a wanted fugitive from the law. For several days, for that matter.

I don't know what kind of penalties that might carry with it. Maybe I can make that easier on her somehow, but not before they tell me anything.

"Good morning," Logan says. His voice is rough in my ears.

"Howdy." I try to blink the sleep out of my eyes. The meds are killing me, I think. But I'm less tired than I was yesterday, less tired than I've been since as long as I can remember.

"How you feeling?"

"Better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The room goes quiet.

"What's the story with the handcuffs? Am I being moved? When?"

Davis speaks up this time. "You're being moved, what I hear, as soon as you safely can be. They've been asking every day, what's the expectation. You've got a few days, at least. They seem to think two weeks at the outside."

"The headsman's delayed once more, then."

A scowl twists across both their faces. "Don't joke like that."

No, never joke like that. Certainly not when your head's on the chopping block. Of course not. "And what's going on with your little… say, excursion on my side of the law, Davis? They going to charge you with something?"

"It's a little late to say that I hope they overlook it, but… I'm confident that I'll get away fine."

"Well as far as I'm concerned, you were coerced. I can be very… coercive."

She rolls her eyes, but I can see the smile on her face. I like it better when she smiles. Like it better than the alternative, anyways.

Nobody talks for a while. A nurse comes in, apparently aware with their strange sorcery that I had woken, and introduces herself. She asks what I want for lunch, from a long list of unappetizing choices.

I would rather just head down to the kitchen myself, but the pain that explodes in my side every time I put any weight down on my right side pretty much excludes that as an option.

So instead, I give her a choice that I don't expect anything from, and whenever they get it to me, we'll see. Maybe it'll be edible, or maybe I won't be eating for the next 'several days, or maybe two weeks.'

I'm not really sure what to do with myself any more. The day passes slow. The food is crap, which is what I expected more or less. I don't start feeling better any time soon, but I guess I didn't expect to.

So instead, I haven't got much to do. Just a long damn day to pass with little more than a flat-screen T.V. hanging from the ceiling, showing soap operas I don't want to watch and no remote in easy reach.

I hate having nothing to do. It reminds me of prison. Reminds me every little bit of what prison was like. Nothing to do, nowhere to be, and nowhere to go. I guess that's fine, in a sense. I don't expect anything else.

It's not until a few long hours have passed that I run into my next problem.

"Ah, Davis?"

She looks up from her lap. She might have been dozing, in which case I feel bad for waking her, but I would've done it either way, feel bad or not.

"Sorry? What's up?"

"I don't mean to make this too, ah, personal, but I gotta go. You don't happen to have a key, or somethin', do you?"

She looks at me slant-ways, and then calls out for 'Danny.' Agent Ball comes in. Danny, I guess.

"Prisoner needs to use the lavatory."

"Sure thing," he says. Big motherfucker like that, I don't think I'm in a position to try to attempt an escape. But then I don't know that I blame him for doubting me as he follows me into the bathroom.

I do my business and head back, but now the thought of escape has run through my mind, and I don't think it's going to be the last time.

Going to jail was a given from the beginning of this, except for a little promise of immunity right in the beginning, and I know no lawyer signed off on that.

Which means that from the very beginning, there was no way out of this thing without seeing a judge, at the very least. But I have to say—I don't want to go back to no God damned prison. Not even a real cushy one for rich guys.

'Resort prison,' my ass. Give me my bike, give me long roads in front of me, and let me go. I don't want to be cooped up, regardless of how nice the damn prison they have around me is. Never mind that I have a real suspicion that they aren't all they're cracked up to be.

But I have a strong suspicion it won't be no 'resort prison.' It'll be a big fuckin' thing and I'm not going to like it.

And, for the next several days, that was about all I thought about. How I'm going to get out of here. The thing that upsets me, as my side stops screaming out in agony every time I lean wrong and my need for the painkillers continues to go down, is that I ain't got a plan.

There's really no chance. I could do it on a bathroom break, maybe. But I'd have to get gone, and get gone fast. I don't have a ride out, so I'd have to steal something. I've done a lot of shit in my day, but wouldn't you know… never stole a car.

It's not that I'm above it, but in a real hurry like running from the cops, I don't know that I would manage it. Which worries me a whole hell of a lot, frankly. I don't know if there's a way out of this for me. I can feel it tightening around my neck, like a noose, and there's not a god damn thing I can do about it.

Even in the moment, I can feel my hands getting a little sweaty, can feel the panic starting to rise. I just want to get the hell out of here. I want to get the fuck out of here, and I want to do it now. Nobody's going to convince me to do anything else.

Her hand reaches over and touches my arm, and suddenly I don't feel so bad any more.

"You alright?"

I'm anything but alright.

"Sure."

She knows exactly how panicked I am. I can see it right there in her eyes, but she doesn't argue with me either way. I like that. It's sweet. But sweet, in spite of my hopes, doesn't get me out of these handcuffs.

A few minutes pass. My heart starts to feel a little more under control. "You know, Davis?"

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry we got you wrapped up in this shit."

She doesn't say anything. Her hand squeezes mine for a second, and then she lets go.

That's about all I hoped for, so I guess, if I'm going to prison, I got something I can be happy about.