Page 1 of Until You Found Me

Chapter 1

It’s been days since his last injection. Logan knows from experience he can go longer, but he isn’t ready to test it. The rattle in his bones and skull-splitting headache had him licking the damn bottle in desperation already. Not that it helped. Never does. It ruins his stomach in addition to everything else, but he isn’t exactly thinking straight at the moment. All he cares about, all that matters, is getting another dose of insulin.

The woman in front of him at the pharmacy is taking a decade to complete her order, fussing over pricing and brand names. Logan might drop dead in line while waiting his turn. At least he wouldn’t have to wait days or weeks for someone to find the body. That’s always been a worry he tries to ignore. He could lay there at home until the dog gets hungry enough to dispose of him before anyone comes looking.

Well, Albert might check on him eventually, if only because he’d break their bi-weekly routine.

“The usual.” He plops down a wad of cash when it’s finally his turn, his fingers trembling too hard to count it out.

Albert frowns. “I’m sorry, son, the price of insulin went up. Even the generic brand. Gonna be double the usual for a full bottle.”

Logan’s gut churns. He doesn’t have double. His catch was slim off the boat this week and even if he uses what he saved for food, it won’t be enough. “Two weeks ago it was—”

“And now it’s not. I got the increase this morning. I don’t make the rules, you know that.”

The burning embarrassment of half the town overhearing his financial and medical difficulties is almost as awful as knowing he won’t last long without the medication he can’t afford. All those times he stood in the grocery line with his momma, only for her to come up empty at the cash register play back on a loop.

“A half bottle?” It’s not the first time he’s had to accept less and won’t be the last.

“I’m not supposed to anymore. The boss posted a note.”

He holds up his hand in mid-air, letting it shiver uncontrolled so the only person who can help him sees how badly he’s already devolved. “Been a while already. Half a bottle. Fourth of a bottle. I’ll take a damn syringe full, whatever you can offer.”

Albert glances backward at the line curving around the store. Everyone is curious and nosy about how this might play out, and that’s when Logan knows he’s screwed. Albert could lose his job and there are a dozen witnesses ready and willing to snitch.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” He scrawls across a receipt before sliding it over the countertop. “Try here. They might have some different stock.”

Anger bubbles up and that damn Christmas music in the background turns manic. If he wasn’t five seconds from keeling over he might hop the counter and steal the insulin off the shelf, cops be damned. Instead, he grabs the paper andcrunches it up in his fist, giving Albert a nod, then heads back to his truck. He ignores the looks of pity from people who only need one prescription before they can go back to their lives, not knowing what it’s like to spend almost every dime they earn on life-saving medication.

He can do this. He’s gone longer before and lived. He just needs to snag another deer for the butcher or get back out on the boat and set some nets. It ain’t over ‘till it’s over, but the way his vision blurs tells him otherwise and the usual last-ditch candy bar has little effect. He can hardly read the words on the receipt when he finally checks it.

Meet me around back in ten minutes,it reads, offering unbridled hope and a surge of adrenaline that gets him to that back alley quicker than he could teleport.

He paces while clouds gather above, promising rain as a cherry on the shit sundae of his whole day, until Albert finally appears with a coveted bottle in his fist.

“Off the books. Can’t sell this one anymore because it’s expired. Doesn’t happen all the time, but when it does, you’re welcome to it.”

Logan takes the liquid gold as if he’s holding a bomb, careful not to make any sudden moves and risk dropping it. “Expired? Still safe?”

“Yes, yes, it’ll work just fine. Regulations are why I have to pull it from the stock. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, you hear? I’ll get fired. You know I need this job for Sherry and her chemo, for the benefits—”

He cuts himself off, bowing his head as if ashamed for bringing up the one thing Logan’s never had. Fucking benefits.

“Won’t say a word. You saved my sorry life. How much doI owe you?”

“Nothing. Off the books, remember? Keep your money for when you need another bottle. Go on now, got a line waiting on me.”

People don’t do kind things for him, but Albert has always been kinder than most. He’s one of the few Logan’s forced to see on a regular basis. Used to hand him his insulin bottles when he was a boy and couldn’t reach over the counter without getting on his tiptoes. The state paid for it then and good thing too because his parents never could have.

He makes it back to the truck, grabs a fresh syringe from the glove compartment, and wastes no time before injecting himself with a full dose, leaning his head back against the seat and shutting his eyes.

The relief of his body righting itself is better than any high. The waves in his stomach gentle into calmer waters, his hands go still, and the drums in his head finally quiet. He melts into the seat, letting drowsiness wash over him as he recovers from having one foot in the grave. If he were home already, he’d fall asleep wherever he dropped, but that isn’t an option in the parking lot. He gives himself ten minutes before chugging leftover coffee in the cupholder and turning the ignition. He’s only a few miles away and there’s rarely anyone but him or his neighbor on the back roads.

He’s got enough for a few weeks in this bottle and that feels like a new lease on life but he’s already thinking about the next time, mentally calculating how many fish or how much game he’ll have to pull in to make up the difference. Wondering if he might have a chance to get ahead for the first time since he worked the tuna boats. He never made better money than he did back then, enough to buy three months’worth of insulin after his first check and still keep the lights on and order takeout.

That kinda life isn’t for him, though. All that time in those tiny cabins had him claustrophobic and seasick. He keeps scraping by without having to cave and crawl back and maybe now he can stop worrying that he’ll have no choice. Optimism isn’t in his mental rolodex of emotions, but it’s funny what a fresh dose will do after he’s been jonesing.

He’s riding serotonin all the way down the street with his hand out the window, catching raindrops. Lost in his own head with some terrible song on the radio that sounds like the best thing he’s ever heard when he sees her, alone and wet in the middle of the road.

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