Authors: Jez Strider
“That… was the worst anxiety attack I’ve ever had.” With her hand on her chest, she headed toward the dining
room. Suddenly, she picked up a decorative glass paper weight and hurled it through the house. The heavy ball slammed into the vase that held her wilting flowers.
“No. Oh no….” She frantically began picking up the flowers, uncaring
that the shards of glass were cutting into her skin. A rain of colorful petals spread across the table top and floor. With precise care, she placed each stem and every petal back on the table in the shape of the flowers they had once been. “I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry I can’t go to the funeral. It’s not your dad… I won’t be able to handle it. I… don’t think I can leave the house.” Her words and apologies kept spilling out as she left the room and walked upstairs, tossing herself once again on their bed. His scent still on the covers helped her convince herself he wasn’t dead.
“I am going to sleep and when I wake up, this will all have been a terrible dream. Remember when I had all those bad dreams when we first got together? That’s all this is. That’s… all this is….
”
Finding a suitable vessel for his new life was proving to be more challenging than Logan thought it would be. The body would either be too damaged, the opposite sex, unattractive, or wrong for him in some other way. A few weeks had passed and he was no closer to getting back to Candice than he had been the day he’d died.
“Logan. Hurry. I think this one might be the one. There’s not much time. He overdosed and the doctors couldn’t save him. The man had no will to fight and already left this plane of existence.” Richard spoke hurriedly as they ran toward the emergency room.
The body of Sawyer Verin lay lifeless on the table. He was a few years younger than Logan. Doctors were still trying to revive him. One gave a shake of his head.
“Time of death is ten a.m
. exactly.” He said.
Richard gave Logan a little push. “Now, kid. The window is closing. Just like we
talked about, let your essence fuse with the body. Good luck.”
Logan closed his eyes before stepping closer. “Thank you for everything, Richard. I’ll never forget you.” And with that, he climbed onto the table and lay down, trying to relinquish control and rekindle the spark of life in Sawyer Verin’s body.
Severe pain… a throbbing head… the surging beat of a heart in his chest…. It was more traumatizing than Logan had anticipated. One thing he was sure of, he was alive. To the surprise of the hospital staff, the man they’d labeled deceased sat straight up in the bed.
“Hey now. It’s alright.” The doctor moved closer to keep his patient from standing up.
“I’m alive. It worked. I’m alive!” The voice sounded unfamiliar to Logan when he spoke. He held up his hands in front of his face and turned them over. Everything was unfamiliar. He was someone else, but inside, still himself.
“Somehow, yes, you are most definitely alive. Why don’t you rest for now? Okay? Lie back and we’ll
get you a room.” The doctor gestured to his nurse with a lift of his head and she left the E.R.
“I need to leave.”
Logan did as he was told, though. As much as he longed to return to Candice, he was not feeling stable.
The doctor cleared his throat. “You’ve been in this situation before. We will have to see what the police and the judge say before we can release you.”
“Police? I don’t understand.”
“They may give you another stint in rehab since you were doing well, or they may give you jail time. For now, be glad that you’re alive.”
Logan put his hand over his face and closed his eyes.
I’ll never get back to Candice if I go to prison
.
In the weeks since Logan’s death, Candice had barely eaten, showered, and still had not left the house. Glass from the broken vase was still scattered across the dining room and the flowers remained where she’d carefully reconstructed them on the table. There had been a knock on the door. She’d climbed out of bed and walked downstairs when she heard the sound of a lawnmower.
Carefully, she tugged back the curtain and peered into the yard. Officer Kershaw, only now he appeared to be civilian Jay, was mowing her overgrown yard. Someone had no doubt called to complain about the state of the grass in the high class neighborhood. His kindness almost made her smile, but she wasn’t sure her face would ever be capable of the expression again.
The condolence gift had been from him. A note said his mother had made it. It was the only thing Candice had taken a bite of most days. Fruitcake had never been her food of choice, but it was heavy and kept the nagging in her stomach at bay.
She drew in a few deep breaths and then opened the front door. The dizzy feeling of vertigo was still there. Her eyes lowered.
Stop it, Candice
. A large paper grocery bag caught her attention and she grabbed it before slinking away from the world, back to the safety of her house.
The paper bag had cans of soup, a bag of jelly beans, peanut butter, and a loaf of bread. She set the bag on the kitchen counter, snaked the jelly beans out of it, and lay down on the couch in the living room. One at a time she would pop a piece of candy into her mouth so as not to mix the flavors. She turned on the TV to a music station and blankly watched the dark screen.
About an hour later, the sound of the lawnmower stopped and there was another knock at the door. This time she answered, leaving the chain latched, but cracking the door enough to speak with Kershaw.
“Thanks for the food and mowing my lawn.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll take care of it until you start feeling better.” He seemed a bit shocked by her unkempt appearance. “Are you okay?”
Candice answered with a slight nod. “I would invite you in, but I’m not ready for company. I
can get you a glass of water or something.”
Jay tugged off his gloves and shoved them into his back pocket. “I have a
drink in my truck.” He handed her a card with his name, cell phone number, and the number of the police station. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to. I’ll leave you alone. See you later.” He walked to his truck, tugged off his dirty shirt, and tossed it into the back. Candice shut the door. She was confused by his kindness, but thankful nonetheless.
This is the end of Logan Harworth. I am Sawyer Verin, recovering addict
.
Logan repeated this to himself as he stared in the bathroom mirror. He’d been given a hospital room on the second floor and told he would at minimum have to stay three days while under mental evaluation.
His hands went up to his face and he pressed his fingers into the cheeks, touched his nose and then ran his fingers through his shaggy dark hair. It was courser than his old hair, on the brink of being curly, but waving instead. On his left arm, he had an intricate sleeve tattoo of a dragon. He hoped it wasn’t gang related, but it didn’t really look like it. Not that he had any idea what a gang tattoo looked like.
For an addict, he was muscular and tan. The doctors had said he’d been doing well. Maybe exercise had been one of Sawyer’s distractions from the
urges. Logan had no idea. He had none of the man’s memories. The only thing Sawyer had left behind was a strange craving and a body that ached.
There was a quick rapping of three knocks at the door to the room. Logan left the
bathroom as the woman entered. He took a seat on the side of the uncomfortable bed. “Hey.”
“Hello, Sawyer. I’m Doctor Reed and I’m here to talk to you a little bit. See where you stand on things. Only if you feel up to it. I know it was a close call today.”
“I’m fine. Tell me what I need to do to get out of here and not go to jail.”
Doctor Reed nodded. “I can understand the urgency of getting back to normalcy. The fact of the matter is that you have quite a few strikes on your record. What do you think led to your relapse?”
He had no idea, so Logan made something up. “I’d been working out and kept my hands off the stuff. Then, last night I ran into some old buddies of mine. I should have walked away, but I thought I could handle being around the drugs. I was wrong.”
The doctor nodded again, this time with even more sympathy. “Okay. I’m sure that was hard.”
“Yeah. I know now so I would not put myself in that situation again.”
“Right. Now the judge, he’s going to be unhappy about this relapse. Would you be willing to go to an inpatient rehabilitation center for a few months? You know, to kick this thing for good.
” She was looking down at her notepad and scribbling something.
“If that’s my only choice, then yes.”
“I believe it is. No one wants to see you die, Sawyer. Some people did see you die today.” She smiled in a practiced, comforting way. “Rest up and I’ll see what I can arrange. I know you can beat this.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Of course.” She pumped the hand sanitizer container a few times before leaving the room.
“Rehab.” Logan stood again and walked over to look out the window, thinking about Candice
and how different she might be in a few months. “I’ll make it home, baby.” He rested his head against the cool glass. “I promise.”
After two months of weekly visits from Jay Kershaw, Candice finally invited him in for coffee. Even though she knew in her mind that she could trust the officer, it was hard to let anyone inside the house. But, he’d done a lot for her and it was the least she figured she should do.
“How do you like yours?”
“Black.”
Candice started to pour the drink with one hand and immediately had to steady it with the other. “Shouldn’t be a big deal to invite someone in for a drink, eh?” She tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out harsh and unnatural.
“I’m a friend.” He smiled, but continued with carefully chosen words. “I won’t tell you what to do, but maybe you should see a doctor. It’s been a long time since you went outside.”
“No, Jay. I may be all fucked up, but I don’t want some doctor screwing around in my head or doping me up with medication. Pardon my language.” She sat down on the barstool the greatest distance from him.
He sipped the drink tentatively. “Great coffee.”
“Thanks.” A vision of Logan in the kitchen, sharing a cup with her, and promising her the world filled her head. She had to look away and
focus to block out the painfully sweet memory. “Let me write you a check for the yard work.”
“It’s a sweet offer, but I have nothing better to do anyway. Helping out someone in need makes me feel good.”
“Why aren’t you married yet?” She asked, once again thinking of Logan when she mentioned marriage.
Jay laughed uncomfortably. “Dangerous job, long hours, no available women.”
“All valid points.” She swirled the coffee in her own cup. The conversation lulled from there.
“Well, I should get going. Work tomorrow.” He star
ted toward the door, but turned back when he placed his hand on the handle. “You did well today, Candice. Baby steps and you’ll get there.”
“I don’t think so, but thanks for the encouragement.”
“Sure thing. See ya next week.”
“Bye.” As soon as he was out the door, she crossed the room and checked every lock twice.
Three months after entering rehab, Logan walked into a halfway house. Almost everything he had was in a gym bag, including the uniform he was to wear to his first day of work at a pizza place within walking distance. He was terrified. Without a dime to his name,
how would he even get to Candice? Money had never been an issue in his life before.
There was no other choice but to do the job well and save until he had enough money to go home. But,
then what? He was someone else… a man with tattoos, a criminal record, and a recent stint in rehab.
Pull your shit together, Sawyer
.
You’re another step closer to getting back to her.
He’d quickly taken to calling himself by his new name. It made accepting the change easier.
The first few days at his new job were pure hell. He was a businessman with degrees that did little to help him with tossing dough and standing on a hard floor for eight hours a day. What he thought should be easy, was giving him a fit. As the week progressed, he began to learn and even excel at his everyday job. The first paycheck gave him even more motivation. It was the first wage he’d ever truly earned on his own.
“Hardest two hundred bucks I have ever made.” He told one of his coworkers.
“You got a car, man? I know you were in rehab and all. Gossip travels fast in this place.” Matt, the cashier on duty asked.
Logan
shook his head. “No. It will be a long time until I can afford one. I walk every day.”
“My brother is selling his
old car for five hundred bills. We need a delivery guy. You make more too because of tips.”
“Really? Sounds like what I need.”
“I ain’t gonna lie. It’s a piece of shit, but it does run. Hit me up when you get enough and I’ll take you to check it out.”