A Mask in A Mirror

Chapter 11: Dilemma

The sun had sunk below the horizon when I emerged from inside the ER. Its orange rays were still visible in the distance but the big orb was gone from the sky. I walked across the concrete to lean against a flagpole. The flag was at half-staff, probably meaning that some senator had died. If it were up to me the flag in front of the ER would always be at half-staff; to honor all of the people that were just inside the doors, bleeding and dying.

"Clay." That was Ann's voice. She shouldn't have followed me out here. "I heard what the nurse said." She paused as if she expected me to jump into the conversation and start patting myself on the back. "You really were the perfect hero this time." Hatchet was dying and everybody suddenly wanted to talk about me. Congratulating me for saving a life even if his fate had yet to be seen.

If she was so determined to talk, then we'd talk about the ugly parts, not the imaginary rainbows. "You did this." I pointed towards the door of the hospital, still leaning against the flagpole with my back to Ann. "He was doing good, recovering, and then you came in and fucked it up!" I did nothing to curb the anger in my voice. She had broken him; now she would have to live with that.

Ann surprised me. She didn't speak. Not a word. I turned to look at her, she needed to see the fury in my eyes. Still she didn't speak or see my rage; she just stared down at her hands ambiguously.

"Don't pretend like you can't see it! You are the unwilling genius after all." My nostrils flared as she continued to ignore me. "That's it then? You just don't care? He's dying in there Annie! Hatchet, our friend, is going to die and you don't feel anything?" I couldn't believe it! Ann was a lot of things, but I never dreamed that she could be so cold.

Then, slowly, almost painfully, she lifted her head. Silent tears drifted down her cheeks, strands of hair clung to her wet face.

She did care. She knew that she was responsible. Looking into her eyes I couldn't help but think that whatever Hatchet was going through, physically, psychologically, emotionally; it couldn't possibly compare to the depth of her guilt. I'd seen Ann happy, sad, I'd even seen her cry. But nothing like the look in her eyes in that moment.

"You're absolutely right, it is my fault. And if he dies it's on my head." She wanted to look away. The accusations and anger in my eyes were tearing her apart.

I've always been a particularly stubborn fool. In my own self-righteousness I refused to see the danger in what I was doing. Despite everything, ignoring my own guilty conscience, practically having to force myself to stay mad; I pressed her harder. "Yeah well that's great, but it's not going to help him much is it?" It was a cruel barb.

Ann snapped. I could see her demeanor change. She was a strong person, but the strain of all that guilt, all of the regret and shame. It was too much for anyone. "What do you expect from me? You think I wouldn't trade places with him if I could?" She was yelling now. Tears poured down her face uncontrollably. "I'd do anything, anything to go back and undo the things I've done!" She wadded the front of my shirt in her hands and pulled me close to look upon her face. As if she wanted me to see every detail, to feel the truth in her words. As she finished speaking her head fell on my shoulder. She buried her sobs in my chest. After everything that had happened, it still felt right to be close to her. Every time we touched a piece of me was stitched back into place.