Page 115 of A Deeper Darkness
“No.”
“Sam. Have you talked to anyone about this? Really? Do you think I’m going to think less of you? Think about the past few weeks. I’ve admitted that I was complicit in covering up the death of one of my team members. I lied to the government, I lied to my commanding officer, I lied to the JAG corp. I deserted every code I believed in. The very code that kept me safe, and I committed the ultimate sacrilege toward it. Don’t you see? I’m in my own personal self-exile, living alone, refusing myself the comfort I could have by letting go of my burden? Until now. Until you came parading into my camp and demanded the truth. And I gave it to you. Sam, won’t you do the same? Won’t you allow yourself that small comfort?”
“I thought you said that you were only responsible for a death if you committed it by your own hand?”
He just looked at her.
“You didn’t kill King. Culpepper did.”
“Maybe. If he doesn’t wake up, we might never know for sure. But I was right there. I should have known what was going down. I could have saved him. All of them. So yes, I feel like it was as much my finger on that trigger as his.”
“Xander, you can’t have it both ways.”
He looked her in the eyes, made her acknowledge him.
“Can’t I? I’m a man, Sam. I’ve forsworn all that I swore to uphold. You’re different. You didn’t drown Simon and the twins any more than I did. That isn’t enough for you, though, is it? You want to feel responsible. That way you can avoid moving on. All because you made a choice. The universe isn’t kind, Sam. It’s indifferent. You can’t punish yourself because of bad timing.”
She was crying. Again. She hadn’t cried for nearly two years, then the second she got to D.C., she’d turned into a fucking puddle.
Xander didn’t say a word. He sat back in the hammock and watched her, wary and hungry, like a wolf deciding its victim’s fate, then came to some sort of conclusion. Even with the raw grief tearing her body apart, she could sense the change in his body, in his posture, then felt his arms go around her. He put her head against his chest and didn’t say a word, just held her, let her cry.
She had no idea how long they stayed there. Eventually the tears stopped, and she started to talk. It got dark. Xander built up the fire. The flames warmed her feet, and Xander warmed the rest of her. He listened patiently, never interrupting, letting her tell the story. And finally, at the end, he cried with her.
Nashville, Tennessee
Dr. Samantha Owens Loughley
May 1, 2010
Sam was in the middle of a tricky dissection of an aortic rupture when the morgue phone began to ring. Her assistant, Stuart Charisse, answered for her.
“Dr. Loughley? It’s Kris, she says your husband’s on the phone.”
“Finally. Thanks, Stuart. Can you put it on speaker for me? I don’t want to lose my place here.”
“Like that could happen,” he said with a smile, then clicked the button. A small fog of static filled the room. Good luck for her she was at the station closest to the phone.
“Hi, Simon. What’s up?”
“Hey, are you guys keeping an eye on things?”
“The only thing I’ve got my eye on is a serious buildup of plaque. Why, what’s happening? Is it getting worse?”
The rain had started the day before, sheets of it, thrumming incessantly. Nashville had already gotten eight inches in twelve hours, and the panic was setting in. Simon had suggested she not go into Forensic Medical, but they were understaffed, and behind, so far behind. If things got as bad as the weather forecasters expected, she would be on duty for the next few days. They were saying this was a hundred-year flood. A flood of epic proportions. Memphis had gotten twelve inches the day before, and the rainfall totals for Nashville were expected to be even higher. For a city that had a large river running through its downtown, and tributaries spreading through the suburbs, that could spell disaster.
“It’s getting much worse.” She could hear a strange tone in Simon’s voice. Her husband was a scientist, a rational man. Nothing rattled him. Even the miscarriage she’d suffered several months earlier didn’t shake him. His ability to move on had actually caused major friction between them—she thought they might split up over it. He wanted her to move on and try for another baby. She couldn’t face it again so soon. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to face the idea of getting pregnant again.
Eventually they found a happy medium—not talking about it. It had saved their marriage, at least temporarily.
“Simon, hold on, just one second.”
She made the final slice and laid bare the culprit, a large piece of calcified plaque that had caused the aortic rupture. Now she could stop for a moment.
She slipped off her gloves and went to the phone.
“Sorry about that. I was right in the middle of something. How bad is it getting?”
“They’re doing water rescues in River Plantation.”
