Page 41 of Somewhere Without You
Write again, if you are able. I am not certain if I am dreaming or if Godhasseenfit to open some strange door between our worlds.ButI haveknownstranger things in war.Untilthen,knowthatI shall wait for your reply withgreatanticipation and a heartthat, against all logic,feelsa little less alone tonight.
Your friend in madness,
Captain James Percival Walker
2nd Regiment, Union Army
My eyes wandered across the swirling patterns on the ceiling. The clock on the nightstand glowed,10:15.
Ihadmovedinto Gran’s roomshortlyafter arriving, hoping the larger bed might offer more comfort.Butafter lying here for over an hour, I still couldn’t sleep. Iwasrestless—the familiar ache of unshed tears blooming in my chest.
Logan’s face wouldn’t leave me alone. Our awkward, abrupt exchange.Thatmaddening smirk. The way helookedat me, like he recognized me and didn’t all at once.
I turned onto my side, the clock’s red glow bathing my face as thoughts spunwildlyin and out of my mind.
Whathadhe thought of me?Hadhenoticedthe years gone by, etched into my face, or the extra weight I carried now?Ordid some shadow of the girl he onceknewstill linger?
Each thought left behind a splinter of anxiety inside my chest. Time alone was time to think, and I couldn’t stop myself from replaying every word over and over again until allthatwasleftwasa blur of regret.
Unease burrowed under my skin until I couldn’t bear it anylonger. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, shivering a little at the cold floor against my feet.
A week ago Iwasin San Diego—eager to escape a violent life. Now here Iwas, wondering if the cure might have been more harmful than the disease.
Itwasn’tjustLogan—itwaseverything. My world shifted on its axis soquickly, leaving me to deal with the emotional whiplash.
I flicked on the lamp and crossed the room to the dresser where Captain Walker’s bag sat, untouched. Ihadpulledit from the fridge as soon as Logan left.
Evennow, standingthere, rereading his words for whatfeltlike the hundredth time, I still couldn’t believe it. Things like this didn’t happen. Not to people like me.
Therehadto be a logical explanation. Somethingthatmade sense.Butlogicwasuseless when the truthwasstaring me in the face.
A sharp crash splintered through the quiet house. I jerked my head toward the door. Another loud crack echoed down the hall.
I stood frozen, straining tohear, my heart hammering so loud itnearlydrowned everything else out.
A creak, a light thud.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
My eyes darted around the room, searching for anything to use as a weapon. The lampwastoo heavy, and a framed photo of Katherine and I one youthful summerwasn’tmuch better. My gaze settled on a heavy brass candlestick sitting next to the satchel on the dresser.
Goodenough.
I grabbed it, the cold metal biting into my sweaty palms.
Be brave.
Movingslowly, I crept down the stairs, careful to avoid the creakiest floorboards. At the bottom, I tensed, every muscle tight. The front doorwaswideopen, swinging in the wind, knocking against the frame.
“Hello?”I called out, voice cracking.“Is anyonethere?”
Nothing.Onlythelowhum of the refrigerator bled through the silence.
Slowly, I edged closer and peeked outside. The moon hunglow, throwing long, warped shadows across the porch.
“I’ve got a gun,”I lied, holding the candlestick in a death grip as if itwereenough of a defense against someone who mightactuallyhave one.
Buttherewasno onethere.
