Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Thirty-One

Instead of going home in Zack’s Porsche, Eric and Heston were taking London to Georgetown hospital in one of the many TEAM SUVs that had converged on Turkey Run today. The place looked like an SUV parking lot, with a helicopter on standby, its rotors whirling dust in the clearing by the road. Ironically, it was sitting in the same place where Obermeyer had made her, Maria, Tandy, and Felicia strip. And now Tandy was dead. Thankfully, the other women were on their way to a hospital. London didn’t know which one. Heston had asked Mother to locate their whereabouts so London could speak with them, if they wanted to hear form her. They’d all survived a horrific day together. They needed each other, right? At least London needed to see them, to be sure they were okay after… after…

She turned to the window, afraid to let Heston see her. After Eric had examined her and found nothing bleeding or badly broken, he’d very carefully wrapped a warm blanket around her and set her with Heston in the back seat of the SUV Eric had arrived in. Heston had wanted her on his lap, but Eric insisted she wear a seatbelt.

It was better this way, them sitting side by side while Eric drove. Heston had still tried to pull her across the seat and under his arm, but she’d whimpered. He said he understood, that he was sorry he’d hurt her. But her ribs were only partially why she’d whimpered. Her world had been flipped inside out. She needed distance from Heston, from everyone, to sort herself out. Everything had changed since she’d slipped out to grab breakfast. Before she’d been grabbed off the street.

What a fraud she was. A delusional liar, who’d convinced herself she was better and stronger than she was. Quicker. Smarter. But she wasn’t any of those things. She was a loser. A very foolish, weak, helpless loser. A dreamer—just like Heston had said.

London bit her poor, swollen lip, making it bleed again as the first drops of rain hit the windshield. The view outside turned blurry. A storm was blowing in from the East and the weak September sun had already set in the West, making everything grayer and darker. Bleaker. As if life wasn’t already bleak enough.

Growing up in her parents’ home hadn’t been easy. All her life, London had bolstered her own self-image and convinced herself she had confidence. That she could ace physics, calculus, and track in high school. That she was smart enough, that she knew enough to pass the ACT test with nearly perfect scores. And she had. That she could be accepted by Texas A&M University. She’d done that, too. Out of years of emotional neglect, she’d learned how to be her own cheerleader. She’d become a self-taught expert in positive reinforcement. At ignoring her parents’ jabs. Her cell phone’s photo app was full of encouraging memes. Feel-good banners and posters had decorated her bedroom. She’d even painted an aquamarine rainbow once, then painted over it in bold, black brush strokes that declared, “God loves you, so smile!” Just watercolors, nothing as spectacular as oils. Nothing that would ever end up in an art museum. But it had meant something to her, and it had helped her smile through some terribly long stretches of loneliness. Of being the odd man out. A loner inside her own home.

London had no idea how she’d done it, but at an early age, she’d realized she was different from her parents. They were naturally unhappy. She was the opposite. Somehow, their bitterness didn’t affect her. It didn’t stick or sink in. As joyless and depressing as they were to be around, she was the opposite. Where they avoided social lives, she’d always enjoyed people. She’d never had tons of girlfriends, but she’d found a way to be happy, even when she was alone.

Simply by focusing on being all she could be. On excelling. Their social circle consisted of the few individuals they employed, who, unfortunately, were like them. Unimaginative. Boring. Which stood to reason. Their business was selling boots. Work boots. All ordered by mail. Never in person. No one came to their store to try boots on, because they’d never considered expanding their business to accommodate walk-in customers. Just boots. The same styles year after year. Only available in black and brown. Take it or leave it.

So London left them and put herself through college. Why not? She’d excelled in academics and athletics despite their criticism, lack of support, and name-calling. She’d accepted their low opinion of her because she knew, deep inside, she’d never seen the world the way they did. She was a glass half-full person. Always had been.

Not anymore. Her parents were right. She had no business thinking she’d ever make a difference in the world. She wasn’t strong or smart or clever enough. Some guys had glass jaws, she had a glass skull. She couldn’t fight, didn’t match most guys in weight, strength, or skill. Couldn’t take a punch. She hadn’t survived FBI training, sucked at being a forest service LEO. She was a fraud.

“You okay?” Heston asked, his arm around her, despite her edging closer to the window.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Then, because he knew her too well, she added, “Just sore and tired. I want a long hot shower and aspirin. And sleep.”

“No sleep for a while, London,” Eric said from the driver’s seat. “You’re definitely concussed. We’re taking you to the hospital, and we won’t leave your side until we’re sure you’re okay. If you do fall asleep, we’ll be there to wake you every half hour.”

Well, damn. “I don’t want to go to a hospital. I just want to go home. I’ll be okay, promise.”

Like it or not, Heston released his seatbelt and gathered her back under his arm. “Sorry, but you need a thorough examination, X-rays, maybe an MRI or two. You already threw up twice. That’s a definite indicator.”

“I know, but…” London let her next argument hang. There was no choice. To get Heston off her back, she needed to be seen by a doctor. Her head was killing her. He might be right.

She used to be happy there under his arm. She used to be safe. But safety was just another illusion. There was no such thing. It was as big a lie as she was.

What weighed heaviest on her mind now, was how she’d treated Heston years ago. After just one fight, one simple misspeak on his part, on the day he’d seen two of his men die, she’d run off like a spoiled brat. Why? Because her itty-bitty feelings got hurt. She’d bailed on the man she’d loved. Like a cold-hearted bitch, she’d hopped a jetliner to the East coast and left him. She hadn’t even said goodbye. Or written a letter to explain. Or called to tell him where she went, that she was okay, or why she’d left. No, she’d treated him like he was trash.

Just like her parents treated her. A painful sob caught in her throat at that cold truth. Her chest hurt, but this pain came from her heart, not her ribs. She was no different than her mother. As far back as London could recall, her mother had never hugged her or kissed her boo-boos when she was little. She’d never had a no-kidding talk about girl things. Womanly things. Not about her changing body when she’d started her period. Not about her breasts when they’d grown from an embarrassing C to a double D—at twelve. Girls were mean at that age. Boys were meaner. Luckily London’s gym teacher encouraged her to sign up for track. She’d also taught London about sports bras and deodorant, about tampons and the differences between men and boys. More than anything, Mrs. Summers had cared for London.

But London had only cared about herself. And now Heston had proven—with his life—how much he loved her, while all she’d proven was she was a fraud. A thoughtless, headstrong, foolish fraud.