Page 26 of Logan

The question slipped into my mind like a highly trained assassin. With no warning, my thoughts took on a dark edge, and theonce normal looking motel took on a sinister outlook. The staff behind the desk, who barely looked at me, now seemed to be leering at me out of the corner of their eye, and I swore I could feel the shadows in the corner of the room creeping closer.

I quickly paid for a single night, not even looking at the price as I handed over my credit card, and returned to Clay outside as soon as possible.

He wasn’t alone. While I’d been gone, a man had approached him, and was now leaning way too close into Clay’s personal space as he spoke.

“Ah, come on. I’ve already bought the room for us. You can’t change your mind now.”

Clay backed away from him and looked to be only moments away from punching the man. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not here for you.”

Instead of taking the hint, the man only pushed closer.

“Don’t be like that, Angel. What? You find a better client or something? I’ll match whatever they’re offering.”

I expected Clay to shove him away, maybe even hit him, but instead Clay stood completely unmoving as the man’s hand started trailing up his thigh.

Snapping out of my own shock, I grabbed the back of the man’s jacket and pulled him away. “Hey! He told you to leave. Get lost.”

I tossed the man out into the rain so he landed in a puddle and stood in front of Clay’s frozen figure so the stranger wouldn’t be able to see him.

Clambering off the ground, the man threw water everywhere as he puffed up like an angry bull.

“Bastard. I was here first, and I already paid upfront. You can’t just steal from me.”

As a detective, a concealed-carry permit came with my job. I took advantage of that benefit now and pulled out the gun I kept hidden in a secret pocket inside my jacket.

“He already told you that you have the wrong person. So, start listening and fuck off.”

The moment the barrel of the gun pointed toward him; the man’s anger instantly deflated. Holding up his hands, he slowly backed away.

“Hey, man. It’s cool. You can have him. I’ll just… go somewhere else.”

“I’m not—” I started to say, but the man had already left. He probably wouldn’t have believed me if I tried to argue with him anyway, so I let him go and turned back today.

“All right. He’s gone.”

Clay didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring blankly into space as if his muscles had suddenly turned to stone.

“Hey, Clay.” I waved a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

Still no response.

At first, I thought Clay might be reacting to the sight of the gun and quickly hid it away again, but even once the gun was out of sight, Clay’s reaction didn’t change.

Then it hit me.

Angel.

The man had called Clay “Angel”.

Jordie had warned me about using that word. I knew Clay hated the name, and for good reason, but I hadn’t realized his reaction would be this bad.

He was completely catatonic.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a victim triggered by something that reminded them of their trauma. In fact, those kinds of PTSD reactions were unfortunately common. However, that felt like more than just trauma resurfacing. The reaction had been too sudden, like a switch had been flipped.

It felt… like a conditioned response.

“Hey, Clay. It’s okay.” I put my hand on his shoulder, hoping to snap him out of whatever flashback he’d fallen into, but the moment my hand made contact he lashed out and shoved me away.

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