7. Logan

7

LOGAN

Have you ever imagined what hell on earth would be like?

I never needed to… 'til I had to live it.

For the first two days I'm in the infirmary, I'm out cold. I don't know up from down, down from up. You could've asked me my government name and I couldn't tell you. I'm somewhere in limbo being tortured by the last things I saw. The last things I heard.

A squeak of mattress springs.

Groans of pleasure.

Desperate sobs for mercy.

I wake with pressure welled up in my chest. I'm unable to speak, my throat swollen and thick. My vision clears, at least partially, to a face smirking down at me.

The Leader's clothed again. His white-blond hair hangs over the shoulders of his robes. His lips spread as soon as he sees I'm up. "Believer Logan, I'm pleased to see you've regained consciousness after all."

I bare my teeth, overcome by hatred.

"You made things more difficult than they needed to be. You refuse to accept there is nothing that is yours. Everything that is yours is mine. I will use these things when the urge strikes me. That includes your wife. There is nothing you can do to stop me. You are better off obeying.

"Besides, I wonder what you would think if you knew," he says, bowing closer. His calm voice lightens into a silvery whisper, "our wife loves being my favorite. She performs so well every time. Perhaps that's why you wanted her all to yourself. She was born to be a little whore."

He knows to step back as I spring up in the bed and realize I'm tied down by leather straps. Seconds pass where I buck against the binds and roar from the deepest part of my chest. He chuckles and turns to go.

"Well wishes, Believer Logan. Get better so you can be Saint Mandy's stallion again. Somebody needs to fuck her. Better you than me."

His laughter fades as he walks away, but it lives in my head for hours to come.

The believer that works in the infirmary gives me more pain meds. They drag me under where I'm stuck in dreamless sleep. It's a cycle that repeats for the next several days.

I was beaten bloody. I was beaten so badly I had a shoulder dislocated and my eye socket cracked. For all anybody knows, my vision might never be the same.

It doesn't matter either way.

My life's been stolen from me. Years have been taken that I'll never get back.

Even if, by some miracle, this hell came to an end, I could never be the same. I could never be the man I was before this happened.

I'm a different person now. Damaged in too many ways to count.

Whenever we fought growing up, Mace and I accused each other of being more fucked up. He said Ma's death messed me up. I told him he had daddy issues.

Both true if we were ever honest with ourselves.

But I can't imagine returning to that life after what I've been through. I can't even process how I'll carry on here.

In this fucking hell.

How can I keep counting the days when the depressing truth has been staring me in the face?

There's only one escape from this place. Only one kind of ticket out of here. It's that or devote myself to a lifetime of believing.

I don't have a lifetime of serving the fucking Leader in me. I won't ever be in his presence without wanting to tear his throat open. This place isn't big enough for the two of us.

One of us has to go.

The man I was would've seen this realization as a rallying point. He would've been determined and made it his mission to take out the Leader; he would've seen it as a challenge to kill him and be the survivor.

The swollen man lying in the infirmary sees the realization as a final nail being hammered into his coffin. There's no fight in his broken body. Just… acceptance.

Teysha needs you.

I grit my teeth, shutting out the echo of her cries. It's a sound that's torture. That'll live with me.

She needs me… but I can't live with that. I can't pretend I'm some savior anymore. How can I when I can't even save myself?

The day I'm released from the infirmary, I'm at war in my head. Dark forces try to take over my thoughts. Poisonous thoughts I've never considered a day in my life.

'Til now .

'Til I finally feel it deep in my gut. An emptiness about where this is headed. The only way this will end.

The only option I've got left ‘cuz I can't bear it anymore. I can't live knowing what I've allowed to happen. How I've failed her… and myself.

I pick up my workman boots and the rag I clean them with, and I begin plotting. I map out how I'm going to do it. When, where, what time of day.

Teysha comes around, and I almost crack. She's seeking me out, but I focus on the boots. Scrubbing the leather harder, I shut her out and make her walk away.

Over the days to come, I take notice of when the guards take their breaks. After my infirmary stay, they confiscated the dull-bladed knife I had, but I find a small block of wood in the grass, which I slip into my pocket. It can be whittled down to a sharp point with some work.

Teysha catches me by the spigot, filling up my canteen. My thoughts are on how late into the night the guards stay on patrol and hers are on the pleas she's making.

Begging me to look at her.

In tears over how distant I've been.

Then Xavier shows up and deals the final blow.

"The Leader's requested your presence. You'll be spending the night."

The breath's taken out of my lungs better than any punch to the gut could have.

I can't bring myself to do anything but sink into the pain. Let the sick reality take form. There's no fighting, no escaping except…

It's this endless hell on earth or the hell in the afterlife—if one exists.

The latter seems like it'd be more bearable each day that goes by .

I turn my back on Teysha and let Xavier drag her away, knowing what she'll be subjected to, hating myself for being so fucking weak I can't put a stop to it.

Hating myself so much I feel like I can't survive in my own skin.

The disgust rises up ‘til it's overtaken me, a self-loathing that runs so deep it's become an inescapable part of myself.

So has the rage.

The sheer, unparalleled rage that I've failed. I'm useless.

As illogical as it sounds, I become angry with her too. Angry she's become his favorite. Angry that she's given into him and I thought I could get us out.

Suddenly, maybe with more clarity than I've ever had, I get Grace.

I understand what she did and why. Teysha might come to get it too someday.

I always thought it was pussies who did it. Failures who couldn't hang. Weak people seeking the easy way out.

I was too unbreakable. There was nothing I feared and nobody who could have that power over me.

But as the afternoon hits and I overhear Brody telling Amos about tonight's ceremony where Teysha will be initiated from believer to saint, my mind's made up. It turns out I'm not as unbreakable as I thought. I'm running scared. Giving up and tapping out.

I can't live with it anymore.

Amos and Brody are the ones guarding me at the back house. I take my time stuffing the linens into the washing machines and pouring the detergent. I'm waiting for their break. Just a few minutes unsupervised so I can get it done.

The shaved down hunk of wood rests in my pocket.

They step out for a smoke at half past the hour .

I glance around, digging the sharp hunk of wood out. It comes up against my throat, my pulse racing.

On the count of three.

Gritting my teeth, I prepare myself to rip the Band-Aid off and do it. I press the wooden shiv harder ‘til it's piercing my skin and the first bead of blood oozes out.

All I've got to do is push a little more. Jam the shiv into my throat and slice away. I'll bleed out in minutes.

Three.

My eyes remain on the window, watching Brody and Amos blow smoke. The final moment of my life. By the time they find me, I'll be in a gory puddle on the floor.

Two.

The laundry truck sits outside the open door, the engine running. Its hum will be the last sound I'll hear other than my pounding heart.

One.

The path ahead is clear. There's no one standing in my way.

I dig the wood in deeper ‘til I've punctured my skin. One more push will really do it.

Now's my chance.

My mind flips on a dime. I make a snap decision that's unexpected even to myself. But my body rushes into motion of its own accord. I sprint toward the door, diving into the pickup truck. Behind the steering wheel, I shift gears and slam on the gas.

Brody and Amos look like they're about to shit themselves when they realize what I've done. The cigarettes tumble out of their mouths. They scream at me and open fire. Shots that land nowhere as I speed away, crashing through the wired fencing .

By the time any of the guards are able to hop in another truck and hit the roads, I'm long gone.

I haven't had a single thought or drawn a breath.

I'm blacked out, operating in a trance. It hasn't even registered—I'm free .

Miles turn into hours turn into a plum sky and then twittering morning birds. I drive 'til I recognize the highway and the cities on the signs. Pulsboro comes up, letting me know another fifty miles. The truck's running on fumes when I click my turn signal and cross through familiar roads.

I find the saloon. The house out back where the patio's full of club members, new and old.

I approach as everybody's busy celebrating. People take notice as I pass them up and they look like they've seen a ghost.

Mace is chatting up some girl when he finally sees me. The color drains from his face. Then it hits him.

I'm back from the dead.