Page 39 of The Darkness Within

Nash pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a seat at the table, slumped over with his head resting on his arms.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Tex observes.

“We’ve both been there before. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“God, that shit makes me grateful to be clean.”

“You and me both, Tex.”

Without ever touching his coffee, Nash lifts his head and mumbles, “I think I need to go lay down again.”

He shuffles out of the kitchen in a daze, looking ghostly pale, and a bit green.

“Well, that’s the last we’ll see of him today,” Tex surmises.

Nash sleeps for most of the day, and I hover anxiously as he stirs restlessly, shaking and sweating and talking nonsensically.

It’s killing me not to climb into bed with him and hold him, to cradle his body in my arms and sing that song to him that brings him so much comfort. Twice today, I’ve heard him mumble the words in his sleep.

With a cool, damp cloth, I wipe the sweat from his face, neck and chest, marveling at the man in my care. The man so clearly suffering.

I have so many questions for you.

What was the one thought or idea you clung to that gave you hope?

How did you put the pain in your leg from your mind so you didn’t go crazy?

How can you be so brave and so strong and yet doubt that you can handle what comes next?

Detoxing from drugs and alcohol is a fucking mess that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but Nash is going to get through it, with my help, and the help from the people around him, and he’s going to come out the other side much stronger and more resilient.

I’m going to help him believe in himself again.

“Don’t… Don’t leave me alone,” he mumbles, sounding agitated. Who are you talking to? Gutierrez? Someone from your past?

“Don’t go, Brewer. Don’t leave me.”

He’s talking to me. He doesn’t even know that I’m here, he’s been asleep all day. But maybe, somehow, he feels me. He senses that I’m here with him, and that he’s not alone.

“Don’t…”

Softly, I slide my hand in his, and he squeezes back.

“I’m right here. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Nash settles and doesn’t stir again until the sky turns dark outside his window.

Day 22 of captivity

The pain in my leg had lessened to a dull ache, with moments of blinding agony when I tried to move. The tissue around the bullet was probably dying, festering. Maybe I would lose the entire leg. Assuming I made it out of here.

Gutierrez had become squishy. I didn’t know how else to describe the fluids that seeped from his body. He was rotting. Not even the rats were all that keen on him anymore.

And still, I held onto him.

Still sang to him.

Still made promises to his lifeless corpse I didn’t know if I could keep.

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