Wild with All Regrets, page 24
“Lucas!” Jamie had just about tackled him to the ground. “We need a medic! Someone get a fucking medic!”
“Jamie— Jamie I’m fine, it’s—”
“Jesus. Lucas, I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two. How many fingers am I holding up?” Lucas made a vulgar hand motion, which didn’t lighten the mood as much as he had hoped.
“Lucas . . . Why did you push me out of the way? I don’t—I don’t want you getting hurt on my behalf. You could have been killed— I— for me you— I can’t— Lucas I can’t— Jesus.”
Lucas felt fine, honestly, but there was an excessive amount of blood running onto Jamie’s hands. The bright Lieutenant was close to tears by the time a medic arrived.
“It—it’s a head wound. He’s lost a lot of blood—I—”
“Aye aye, Lieutenant.” A medic whose name Lucas had never learned tugged him out of Jamie’s arms. “Not too bad, yeah? Can you walk?”
“Yes. I’m fine, honestly.”
“Good lad. C’mon then, let’s get that face patched.”
“Take care of him!” Jamie called. “I—Lucas I’ll be here, okay? Come back soon.”
“I’ll be okay,” Lucas had promised, taking Jamie’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Normally, he would have bumped their foreheads together, but it didn’t seem hygienic. “You hold down the fort while I’m at medical, yeah? I’ll be back before you know it.”
He hadn’t liked the look of his nurse when he saw her; she seemed too cocky. She had a broad smile and an easy laugh that seemed terribly out of place while men choked and died around her. But in time, her bedside manner grew on him. She put him at ease and kept his mind off the throbbing pain in his forehead.
“So, tell me about yourself,” she said, swabbing an overly generous amount of a miserable, stinging liquid into his open wound and causing him to hiss in pain. “My name is Angela Robinson, a pleasure.” She passed him a bottle of whiskey and he took a long swig before she did anything further.
“Ugh. Lucas. Lucas Connolly. You’re a brute with that cotton swab, honestly,” he informed her, laughing a little. “How long have you been out here?”
“Long enough that I’m bombproof, a status for which you might consider aiming?” she teased, meeting his eyes for a second. “Hold tight, there’s a little tiny fragment still stuck here . . . okay, I’m sorry in advance for this.”
Lucas shut his eyes against the pain, Jesus Christ it felt like she was scraping against his skull as she tried to dig it out. “Fuck! Hold up, hold up.” He needed a breather, and she gave him one. “You’re strong.”
“I’m all right. You’re not as brave as I was hoping,” she said with a wink. “So, what happened?”
“Bomb went off, I . . . I dunno, I probably jumped in front of it, I didn’t want my pal getting hit.”
“Your pal should get you a beer,” she laughed. “Got it. Cheeky little bugger, that!” She showed him the minuscule bit of metal and plopped it down with its brother in the kidney-shaped dish. “Okay, I’ll just go over it once more with the sodium hypochlorite, then we’ll stitch up. You tell me if you need to stop. Guess worst case we can leave you with a gaping motherfucker of a wound.” Angela grinned at him, and he found himself grinning back.
“As much as I’m sure that would increase my rugged appeal, I think you’d best close it.” Lucas decided that he liked her. “I don’t want my skull to fall out after all.”
She flooded the wound with painful cleansing fluids and got her stitch-up kit ready. “Okay, this is gonna be shitty, but I’ll go as quick as I can. You just talk, you keep yourself distracted. Tell me about this buddy of yours—not a lot of men out here I’d take a damn bomb for.” She smiled and grabbed his skin with her forceps again, driving a curved needle through it.
“Ach! Shit! He—he’s called Jamie, he’s my best friend, we share a flat in Dublin . . . or we did before all this started. We’ve been friends for years, I dunno what I’d do without him.”
Angela gave him a warm, gentle look. Lucas wondered if it was obvious from his face that he was in love with Jamie.
“And how’s he taking your infirmity?” she asked gently.
“He’s a wreck, I need to get back as soon as possible,” he admitted, smiling just thinking of it.
“Aw, that’s adorable! Maybe after the war is over you can get married,” she teased.
Christ. Was it so fucking obvious? Shit.
“I’m just joking,” she added.
Lucas avoided her eyes and said nothing.
“You must be very close, though . . . it’s good to have someone like that. It’s good not to be alone when you’re out here.”
Lucas sighed and tried to relax a little. “Yeah. I only signed up because I knew he’d get himself killed if he came out here by himself.” Damn it, he wasn’t normally this talkative about Jamie . . . then again, most people didn’t really care about what he thought or said or did. It was sort of nice to have someone besides Jamie to open up to—hell, it wasn’t like he was ever gonna see this crazy woman again. “You all on your own out here, I take it?”
“Yeah, my fiancé is stationed out in Germany, so . . . ” Angela carefully kept stitching up Lucas’s face. “I guess it’s for the best, he’s nothing but a distraction. His name is Euan, and he’s positively dreamy!” Angela blushed and shook her head. “Okay! You’re all set. That’ll be twenty francs.”
“You’re off your tits if you think I’m gonna give you twenty francs for digging around in my skull!” He chuckled, wondering if he could find a mirror to assess the damage.
“Oh, come now, I did such a nice job! Ten francs.”
“I’ll treat you to a beer when I get my next leave, fair?” He gingerly touched the skin over his eye and determined it probably wasn’t too mangled.
“Yes. And you can bring Jamie! I’d love to see what all the fuss is about.”
Lucas wondered if Angela had managed to figure him out. Most of Jamie’s friends ignored him and most of Lucas’s acquaintances didn’t dare ask about the beautiful rich blond boy who’d pulled him out of the slums. He wondered if his love was obvious, if his propensity toward men was obvious . . . it certainly had been to Father Doyle.
“He’ll probably try to sleep with you. He has a way with nurses,” Lucas warned, giving her a wink.
“He’ll have to be pretty bloomin’ charming to get my knickers off! My feminine virtue is promised to another, such as it is. Eh, we’ll see how it goes. Worst case, you protect me from a lapse in judgment, as continuing recompense for fixing your face up. Yeah?”
Lucas laughed. “You’re on, Angela. I’ll come find you in a few weeks.”
He was in good spirits when he went back to the bunker, even though his head was throbbing away. Most likely, he could’ve gotten a few days leave out of an injury like this, but he didn’t want to make Jamie worry.
But of course, he had been worrying, and almost as soon as Lucas was back to the trenches Jamie ran up to him and threw his arms around his shoulders. “Oh, thank God you’re okay . . . when I saw all that blood . . . ” He shook his head. “C’mon, you can sleep in my quarters until your head is feeling a little better. Got to take advantage of the officer’s perks every now and again, eh? . . . are you okay? No—no brain damage?” Jamie forced a laugh.
“No more than usual, Jamie. They said I’d be fine. I’ll just have a scar.”
Jamie’s mouth twitched but he didn’t say anything.
Lucas followed wordlessly and plopped down on the bed as soon as they were alone. He really was exhausted—drained from the blood loss and the pain in his head—but he’d stay awake until Jamie was feeling a little more secure.
“So . . . how bad is it? My face completely ruined? Will I ever get married, do you think?” Lucas offered, trying to keep things light.
“Eh, I haven’t kicked you out of bed yet, have I?” Jamie laughed, sitting down beside him. “Women think scars are sexy anyway.”
“That right? Good thing you don’t get injured that often, any more sex appeal from your end and we’d never be rid of ’em. You’re already bloody catnip with that Lieutenant stripe on your shoulder,” Lucas teased. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”
“Not really, I’ve just been . . . well . . . worrying.” He met Lucas’s eyes and bit his lip a little. “I . . . fuck, Lucas.”
Jamie had been doing a little better with his fears recently, and Lucas hoped this wasn’t the beginning of another mental decline. They seemed to get worse and worse each time he lapsed.
“It’s okay, Jamie. It doesn’t even hurt. You know how bad forehead wounds can look, but they’re never that serious.”
Jamie took his hand and squeezed it. “Lucas . . . I dunno if I say this often enough . . . you’re my best friend, and I love you, and I cherish you. You’re my heart, Lucas. If I lost you—if anything happened to you here—I don’t know what I would do. You’re one of the most important people in my life and . . . and I was so scared today.
“I’m not an idiot, I know you’re only here because I’m here, I know you’d be safe at home with your family if I hadn’t . . . ” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I’m sorry I brought you here, I’m sorry I got you hurt, I’m sorry you almost got blinded because of me.” Jamie’s broad shoulders were shaking, and Lucas sat up and pulled him into a warm embrace.
“You are an idiot. I’m here because I love you and I cherish you, too,” Lucas said, glad that Jamie’s head was tucked into his chest so he wouldn’t be able to see the way his cheeks were reddening. “We look out for each other, and we protect each other. We always have, and we always will. There’s nowhere in the world that you could go that I wouldn’t follow, and I like to think the reverse is true as well. We’re stuck with each other, through thick and thin, and that’s the way it should be.”
Jamie pulled away and smiled, those beautiful blue, red-tinged eyes shining in the dim light of the bunker. “Yeah. You’re right.”
He sat up next to Lucas on the bed and let their shoulders touch. Lucas very much appreciated the silence around them. It wouldn’t be long before the shelling started again, after all.
“Lucas?” Jamie asked eventually, his eyes drifting to the angry swollen wound on his friend’s forehead.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think happens when you die?”
That gave Lucas pause. He’d been a goddamn atheist for as long as he could remember, but he doubted that was what Jamie needed to hear right now.
“I dunno, Jamie. My mother always said that the righteous go to heaven . . . I don’t think you have too much to worry about on that end. As for what I think . . . it’s not an easy question. Every religion says a different thing, doesn’t it?” He squeezed the Lieutenant’s hand.
“Yeah. It’s not easy to parse the truth if no one can agree on it.” Jamie squeezed his hand back. “I’ve been wondering recently if heaven is just a nice story they tell people to keep them calm and happy until the end, like farm animals. I’ve been thinking about my father and what his last moments were like. Whether he felt fear, if he’s in heaven, if his soul has just vanished. I can’t bear it, Lucas. And today . . . I was thinking what would happen if you died. You know I’m not having the best time out here; I know I’ve made you put up with more than your fair share of bull.” He sighed, running a hand through his beautiful golden hair.
“If I lost you, Lucas, I don’t think I could make it to the end of the war. Whatever grip on reality I have, I would lose it if I lost you here. It’s at times like these that I try to think about heaven, try to convince myself that it’s real and we both deserve salvation. I need to believe that death isn’t the end, that there’s a means to find your loved ones again in the afterlife and make up for lost time. I like the idea that we’d be able to meet up again, go sit on a cloud together and watch the world go by for the rest of eternity. I know how stupid that sounds . . . ”
Lucas shook his head and put an arm around Jamie’s shoulder.
“It’s not stupid at all. Tell you what, whichever one of us dies first can pick out the cloud and wait for the other one to join him. I promise you, Jamie, I promise you—if there’s a heaven, and if by some miracle I make it there when I die, I will find you and we’ll be together always.”
Jamie smiled and gently bonked their foreheads together.
“Ow! You tit, my scalp got poked by a crazy woman all afternoon, as you may recall!” Lucas laughed, nudging Jamie with his forehead all the same.
“Shit, sorry, Lucas.” Jamie laughed, too, and Lucas thought of how easy it would be, how natural it would be, if he could just close the few inches that separated them and kiss Jamie like he wanted to. His lips were so soft, so pink . . . Kiss me Jamie, please, please, no one will ever know, it’s just us.
But of course Jamie didn’t do that, and of course, Lucas didn’t either.
“You dafty,” he said instead, his voice warm and gentle as he imagined them on their little cloud in heaven, watching the world turn without them.
1929
Apparently getting Lucas executed was proving to be a bit of a faff—they had to have the hangman sent over from Britain, and he couldn’t come until after Christmas. Frankly, the details were all a little tedious from Lucas’s perspective. Angela had told his siblings what was happening to him, but only Becky had been able to come visit . . . maybe that was for the best. Jessie was pregnant, Mattie wasn’t in any state to travel, and besides, Lucas didn’t really want to see any of them.
Angela had come back once or twice as well, but Lucas could see how hard it was for her to sit with him now that he had the execution hanging over his head. Two weeks, they said. Sitting in his prison cell at Mountjoy was akin to being with a corpse, and he didn’t blame Angela one little bit for not being able to handle the loss. It was better this way; he was glad to be alone. Being with people who loved him only weakened his resolve and gave him a reason to keep on living, not that it made a fucking difference now. He wanted to go to the gallows with his head held high, with bravery and dignity. His family would make that all the harder.
He stopped waiting for Jamie to come back as well, but he couldn’t stop the way the bile rose in his throat each morning when he woke up, searching the room for a ghost who had long since forsaken him. He hadn’t even managed to get Jamie to heaven, hadn’t freed him or helped him. He’d just lost him. Again. Christ, if he couldn’t help Jamie then paying his penance was for the best thing for him. He had to keep telling himself that.
He’d been offered a priest, who came to meet with him once before the execution was to take place. “Death will be swift and painless,” the man assured Lucas. “Pierrepoint is a professional. Your neck will break in the fall, and you will be killed instantly. You won’t strangle to death. You won’t feel anything.”
“But how does it work? Why would that kill you instantly?” Lucas found himself wondering.
“The theory is it damages the nerves in the neck and shocks the system. You won’t be aware of what’s happening. Total brain death will take a little more time, but you won’t be aware of it. It’s very quick, please don’t be frightened.”
Lucas wasn’t frightened. He told the priest he wouldn’t need any last rites. He was ready to go as he was.
In a way, prison was quite liberating. Considering that Lucas had spent the last ten years pining, agonizing, and regretting nearly every decision in his past, having that weight off his shoulders now seemed a real blessing. One of the guards had told him that part of being a prisoner was reflection, penitence, trying to make come to terms with the sins of his past.
So he stared out the window and thought of Jamie. Of his beautiful soul, the life that Lucas had stolen from him . . . how just it felt to finally begin to make things right. It had nearly killed him to lose Jamie all over again, but it was clear now that that had been the push he’d needed to atone once and for all.
As the weeks passed, the feeling became more and more natural. It was such a simple pleasure to be able to breathe without having a sinking feeling in his chest. Yet even with his burden lifted, he could not ignore the niggling regret still nipping at his heart. That Jamie had left him before they could make amends. That Jamie’s spirit might linger on ever after: angry, vengeful, and lonely.
Lucas found himself praying each night— to God, to Jamie, to any higher power that would listen.
“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper. “Please. Please, forgive me. I’m doing everything I can to make it right.”
It was a beautiful clear night in January, and Lucas stood at his window as he begged for one last chance. His lips moved silently; his brow furrowed in concentration. There wasn’t much time left, and he didn’t want to face his Maker without first finding peace with Jamie. He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, but he at least wanted the chance to apologize.
“Lucas?”
He spun around, his eyes wild. His voice, he’d know that fucking voice anywhere. Lucas scanned the room, hyperventilating.
“Jamie!?”
“Lucas.”
And there he was, shimmering softly in the sunlight, a sad expression crossing his face. He was dressed in his army uniform, the hole from the bullet still present over his chest, but the blood had largely vanished. Jamie put his hand forward and rested it on Lucas’s shoulder, the light of his aura white and gentle.
Lucas fell to his knees in front of the apparition and clasped his hands together.
“Jamie, I’m so sorry. I was wrong, and I can never take it back, I can never make it better, but—”
“Lucas stop, it’s okay,” Jamie said gently, moving to embrace him as best as he could. “I’m still bloody furious with you, mind. But I gave it a lot of thought. After I remembered what happened, how I died . . . I couldn’t stand to look at you or be near you.”
He sighed. “I was so angry Lucas. I was so angry, and I felt so damn betrayed but I—I don’t have it in me to stay mad at you forever. I wish things were different. I wish you hadn’t . . . but you would never, ever do anything to hurt me. I know you, Lucas Connolly. I know that you did what you did out of love. I tried to put myself in your shoes, tried to imagine if I were slowly losing you to paranoia and fear, if I had to watch you slowly fall apart every day— shit. If you were suffering the way that I was at the end. I don’t know what I would have done, Lucas. I don’t think I could have taken your life, but I understand why you . . .” He made a gun with his fingers and mimed shooting himself in the head.
