Loïc
“The anxiety balled up in my throat plummets down to my feet, taking my breath with it. I gasp for air. The sight before me is one straight from my nightmares.”
—Loïc Berkeley
I can’t do it anymore.
I see the words from Tommy’s text over and over in my head as I rifle through my dresser. I shine the light from my cell phone into the drawer. It’s still dark outside, and I don’t want to wake London with the overhead light.
Her family is arriving today. It’s an exciting day because they will be meeting Lindi for the first time. London has an entire two-day New Year’s celebration planned. We’ve spent the last week since Christmas getting everything ready for our guests. She’s so thrilled to finally introduce our daughter to everyone we love. London goes all out when we host, so she needs her rest this morning.
The text.
My mind is still reeling from it, and my heart is racing. As soon as I read it, I responded.
Sit tight. I’m on my way.
He hasn’t replied, and that worries me.
Tommy and I spoke last night about his physical therapy session scheduled for this morning and his complete lack of desire to go to it. He hates going to PT.
I can’t do it anymore could be in relation to that. Maybe he’s canceling his sessions? But why would he feel the need to tell me that he was skipping PT at six in the morning?
I just have a sinking feeling deep in my gut. I learned a long time ago to always go with my gut instinct. Intuition is a powerful tool that is too often ignored once one’s brain starts rationalizing the feeling and making excuses for it. I’d rather be wrong than sorry I didn’t act.
“Loïc?” London’s tired voice whispers from the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m running to Tommy’s. He just texted me, and something’s not right.”
“No, don’t go. Today’s a family day,” London protests.
“I won’t be long. I’m just going to check in on him, and I’ll be right back with plenty of time to help you and get your parents from the airport.”
“Okay. Don’t be too long.”
“I won’t.” I walk over to her side of the bed. “I love you.” I bend, kissing her lips.
“I love you, too, my mighty warrior. I’m proud of you. You’re a good man, Loïc. Tommy is lucky to have you looking out for him.”
“Thanks, babe. Go back to sleep. I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay.” London sounds half-asleep already.
I text Tommy again once I’m in my truck.
Be there soon, bud.
I’m sure I cut the usual thirty-minute drive to Tommy’s in half. The roads were relatively clear this early in the morning, and my foot was excessively heavy on the gas pedal.
I knock on Tommy’s door with my fists.
Come on, Tommy.
Open up.
I pound louder.
I remember the key that he gave me six months ago, back when London was on assignment in Africa. He went away for the weekend and asked me to stop by and feed his cat. I run down the apartment stairs and out to my truck. I start tossing papers and other random crap out of the glove box in search of the key. Grabbing the key, I run back up to his place.
I open the door. “Tommy?” I call out.
I wipe my slick palms against my jeans and breathe deep. My heart pounds loudly, and the rhythmic thud rings in my ears. I turn on the light and scan the living room and small dining space.
Come on.
Please.
Please.
I head down the hall, past the kitchen and toward his bedroom.
“Tommy?” I knock once on his door before cautiously opening it.
The anxiety balled up in my throat plummets down to my feet, taking my breath with it. I gasp for air. The sight before me is one straight from my nightmares.
Please. I send a quick prayer into the universe. It’s one word, but the need is desperate.
“Tommy.” My voices shakes.
He is sitting in his wheelchair at the foot of his bed, facing me. He’s drenched in sweat. His eyes are red, puffy, and tired. His knuckles are white, and his arm quivers as he holds a handgun under his chin. The trajectory of the bullet would be directly in line with his brain.
“Tommy, please.” I hold out my hands, my palms toward him, begging him to stop. “Let’s just take a moment to talk this out. This isn’t what you want to do. This won’t solve anything.” I take a small step toward him.
“Stop!” he cries, pulling the gun from his skin and directing it at me. “Don’t come any closer.”
“I’m here to help you. Talk to me, Tommy. We can fix this.”
Keeping the gun pointed in my direction, he points to his missing legs with his free hand. “You can fix this?” Then, he points to the side of his head, tears streaming down his face. “You can fix this?”
“I can help you.”
“You can’t. No one can. You can’t stop the images from coming. I see them. I see their faces. I see their families’ faces. There’s a nightmare playing in my head twenty-four hours a day, and it won’t stop. You can’t make it stop.”
“I’ve been there, Tommy. I know what that’s like. You can beat it. This isn’t the end for you.”
“I can’t do it anymore. I tried. I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired of fighting. I want the pain to end. I can’t. I can’t,” he sobs, shaking his head.
“You can. Let me help you, Tommy.” I take another small step toward him.
“I said, stop!” he yells. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Please let me help you. I promise, it will get better,” I plead.
“It won’t,” he says, his eyes void of all hope. “It won’t.”
The gun is still aimed in my direction. His arm shakes, and the gun vibrates in his hand.
“It will. Put the gun down. Let’s talk it out.”
“Talk doesn’t do shit,” he huffs.
“It’s a start. We’ll figure out what will help. Okay? You’re not alone. I’ll fight this with you.”
I take another step toward him, and everything happens so fast.
The deafening bang rattles, too powerful for this small space. The forceful shock wave sends a warm gush of air and vibrations throughout the room. The floor shakes below my feet.
The tiny metal assassin pierces my skin so quickly that I don’t feel pain, just immense pressure. I fly back, my arms flailing out. My back hits the ground hard, and my head lands so forcefully that I lose my sight. Everything slowly slips away from me. All I see is blackness, and all I hear is a formidable buzzing in my ears. The humming quiets. In the deep recesses of my mind, I beg the noise to stay, but it fades.
I think of London and Lindi, but I can’t see their faces. And then they’re gone.
It’s all gone.