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Why? Had he been too happy? Did he piss off the universe for flaunting his good fortune by always praising his lovely wife and smart little girl?
These irrational questions would swarm through his mind, torturing him. Was there a divine explanation as to why, three years ago, on their way to his parents’ house for a Christmas lunch, a truck had taken a turn without checking the lanes as Logan had been driving on the solitary road?
He wasn’t doing any more than sixty-five miles per hour, which was the speed limit. But the truck came out of nowhere and the roads were already slippery with ice. Logan lost control of the car and for a moment, when the truck driver seemed to frantically try to get out of the way he thought maybe he could make it. But his hopes died quick, as the heavy vehicle was moving too fast, hitting the family car sideways, sending them spinning into oncoming traffic. Their SUV bounced of the stone embankment wall on the side of the road, then flipped on its roof skidding along the pavement for over fifty feet, until it finally rolled into a ditch.
Logan’s memories about the incident were fractured at first, but the more time went by the clearer those moments came back to him. There was no other single experience in his life that he remembered so vividly. The smell of burning gasoline, melting plastic, blood, and the pecan pies they were supposed to bring over for the Christmas lunch. The way Sophy’s neck was bent so unnaturally, bones protruding from her spine, it made him want to scream in horror. He couldn’t, as he was trapped firmly against the dashboard and could hardly move or breathe. Jordan! He tried calling for his little girl, but he could barely hiss her name the effort alone, knocking him out of consciousness.
In moments like this, he reminded himself, everything had happened so fast, neither of his girls had even had the chance to panic and scream.
Next, he woke up in the hospital and the somber faces of his family standing around his hospital bed gave him all the explanation he had needed. The doctor kept wanting to talk to him about his injuries. He didn’t give a shit. He wanted to talk to the police. He wanted to know more about the accident. Days later, when they had deemed him adequate enough, the coroner had come by to speak to him. He had reassured Logan, Jordan and Sophy had died instantly. They had not suffered. This information should have brought him peace, but in reality, it only made him feel empty.
The truck company had been quick to offer him a settlement, while he was still so grief stricken and delirious from pain killers he couldn’t think straight. His parents had urged him to sue them for a lot more than the half a million they offered him, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about it.
He was unconcerned with his own injuries – both his legs were broken and the trauma he had sustained could potentially mean he would not get back any feeling below the waist. He had gone hysterical, and screamed, “I don’t care!” every single time the medical professionals looking after him tried to discuss his condition and recovery with him and work out a plan for his rehabilitation.
His mother had spent the time talking to the doctors and relaying the information to him as gently as possible, but he just couldn’t force himself to give a shit and to fight for his recovery. If anything, every night he prayed to never wake up again. He dreamed about Jordan and Sophy. Leaving his beautiful angels behind, as his dreams slipped away, often resulted in Logan waking up frantic and in tears.
The long months in the hospital and the fact that he couldn’t even bring himself to organize the funerals broke him completely. His recovery dragged on because he had absolutely no desire to live. The only reason he finally got on board with the program and begrudgingly put his ass to work during physical rehabilitation was the constant murmur from his mother, Debbie. She was already planning how she would look after him. She never failed to remind him that he could come back home and live with them.
Fuck no!
He loved his parents, and even though he had no idea what life was going to be like for him after he left the hospital, he absolutely refused to be handled and looked after when he knew he didn’t need it. He simply didn’t feel deserving of it. He was alive, but what was there left to live for? Logan may not have known what the future held for him, but one thing he felt certain about – the answer to that question wasn’t going to manifest itself if he completely gave up on trying and allowed his mother to take over.
Sophy’s family blamed him, of course. Her parents, Beth and Carl Schusterman, had played nice enough while Sophy had been alive. But after the tragedy, they reverted to the way they had always treated Logan – like the unworthy construction worker scumbag that had stolen their little girl and ruined her life. Now, adding to their previous notion, he was also her murderer.
They insisted on blood tests, hoping to prove he had been drunk and driven recklessly. It didn’t matter how many witness testimonies and police reports confirmed Logan’s account of events. In their eyes, he had killed both their beloved granddaughter Jordan and their only child, Sophy. In their eyes, he had become their murderer the moment he had committed his life to Sophy and there was no reasoning with them – that this had been a terrible accident, one Logan couldn’t be blamed for.
Logan took the fault they assigned to him and wore it like a fucking medal on his chest, refusing to defend himself or come up with any excuses. Every interaction with them after the accident had been painful and ended in a screaming match. He had successfully fended them off the house when they tried to lay claim on Sophy’s belongings. But dealing with them had been hard. Every time they came by his house or called him, it left him messed up for days.
Beth and Carl were nothing but relentless in their treatment of Logan. They had contested every single word he had uttered from the moment he had woken up in the hospital. They went as far as to imply, to anyone who cared to listen, that Logan had always been out to hurt Sophy and Jordan. That Beth had always suspected that he was irresponsible and impulsive. In her tireless smear campaign, she brazenly insinuated Sophy may have even feared for her safety long before the accident.
They went on and on and on about the settlement money without any clue, that Logan had donated the funds to all the various charities Sophy herself had been supporting, before her untimely passing. He had never wanted anything to do with that pay out. He didn’t want it sitting in his bank account taunting him. In her rants, Beth would speculate, that perhaps this was something Logan had planned as a way to get the insurance money on Sophy’s policy and some sort of fat settlement to live off for the rest of his life.
None of it was real or in any way believable, and there were plenty of people who were able to come forward and confirm that all those speculations were idiotic and with no real merit.But it is true that every poison, makes the water bitter, even if only a drop is poured in a large barrel.
Thus, for every five people in his life that were ready to swear on their mother’s name that Logan was a good, loving husband and doting father, there was now at least one person, who quietly wondered if Beth and Carl were on to something. And the look that those people gave Logan made his stomach churn and his temples throb, bringing a thick veil of blackness over his eyes.
His once bright and beautiful home was now his isolated sanctuary away from inquisitive looks, as he was unable and unwilling to put himself through the scrutiny he might experience if he were to rejointhe livingin Saratoga Springs.
A cold muzzle on the exposed skin of his wrist snapped him out of his thoughts. He was trembling and cold sweat had his shirt sticking to his back. His hands were shaking, and he gasped for air, feeling his throat closing. Morpheus barked and nudged his pocket. He did this three times before Logan remembered he had his inhaler there and frantically dug for it. He popped the lid off and almost dropped it, then slammed it too hard in his mouth, making his gums bleed. Morpheus stayed glued to him and nudged further in between his thighs, small whimpers escaping his large chest. Logan reached for him and held on tight to his buddy.
Going back to the house was a blur, and he cursed himself for not keeping their walk short. This is how time got away from him and then his idle mind was quick to dive into the pity party he hosted for himself each day. Unfortunately, this happened more often than he was happy to admit. He certainly hated telling the psychiatrist who was supposed to give him his prescription, that he tried not to take the pills. Even though he knew better than to make risky decisions like that.
Admitting that he hated the way they made him feel, could result in more frequent visits and an adjustment of his dosage. Just thinking about a possible change to his fragile routine made him feel panicked and sweaty. Sometimes, after taking his dose in the morning, he would go through his day numbed and nauseated, hardly able to stomach food. His mind would go blank or incredibly sluggish for long periods of time. On days like that, Logan was unable to do much more than care for his immediate needs. That experience alone, fucking broke him.
He still needed the meds and hated it. He took the bottle from the kitchen cabinet where he kept all his prescriptions, and after hurriedly twisting the cap, tipped a few pills in the sweaty palm of his hand. He looked at them for a few moments too long and then placed back the excess in the bottle, closing the cap carefully. He took one pill and chugged the rest of his tea with it.
When he looked out of the kitchen window next, he could see the snow falling. It was light but steady. He might have to hurry and get his supplies organized before the roads got too difficult to navigate. Logan didn’t drive anymore. He just couldn’t. But Saratoga Springs was his hometown and people knew him. He still had friends, even if he had been acting like he was dead to the world in the past year alone.
He called his best friend, Dave. “Hey, man. Yeah…Yeah, I’m good.” He chuckled, because Dave always asked about Morpheus, immediately after sayinghelloand made an obnoxious baby voice, calling the giant dog, hiscutesy doggo. “Yeah, he is fine, too.” As if Morpheus knew he was being spoken about, he wagged his tail, dropping the old leather leash he was chewing on and barked. This pretty much happened every time, and it made Logan smile. Dave yelled more baby shit at the dog. Logan held the mobile device away from his ear, facing it out to Morpheus, thus facilitating the hilarious exchange. Of course, they were best buddies and Morpheus loved Dave’s praise and affection.
Once the two had settled, Logan cleared his throat and asked Dave if it was okay to send him his list of supplies and if Dave would be able to give him a ride to town on Monday the following week. The answer was always,“Yes.”and Logan often wondered if he deserved such a good friend. He strained to remember the last time he had done anything for Dave and that made him feel guilty for calling him and asking him for a favor. Yet again. “You know what…it’s okay. I can call a ride. It’s fine.” He tried to backtrack on the entire conversation.
“Stop that. I said yes, and I’m always happy to do this for you.” He went quiet for a moment then added, “Especially if you promise to come by for dinner after. We miss you, Logan.”
Logan definitely didn’t want to see his psychiatrist, beg for the drugs he hated taking but desperately needed, then go to his best friend’s house, who was the only person who tolerated him at this point and pretend he had his crazy under control in front of his lovely wife and their new baby boy. He hated himself for not being able to separate his personal tragedy from the happiness of others. He couldn’t help but think bitter thoughts and feel resentful. At some point, he realized he had been thinking over his answer for too long and the thought he might be hurting Dave’s feelings with his reluctance hit him hard. He hurriedly said, “Sure, man, that sounds great. See you on Monday.”
He made his appointment next and after a quick look through his pantry and freezer he sent Dave his supply list, and the time when he needed to be at the hospital. Once he was done with these few tasks, he felt his stomach turn, the medication already taking hold of his senses. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, and he knew he had to force something down right now, or he would feel even worse very soon. He made himself a grilled cheese sandwich and got Morpheus a big scoop of his food, and they both ate their late lunch in quiet comfort as he looked out the large kitchen windows.
