A Long and Lonely Mile

Chapter 20

There are many ways to describe an overnight flight across the Atlantic. A glass of cold champagne and a seat that folds out into the bed is said to make even the most timid first-class flyer comfortable after a while. For those in economy, it is nothing short of trying to sleep in a frigid matchbox. They switched seats halfway through the flight. The skies were clear and since the routes that American flights take to England go up and over instead of straight across, Marigold gave Tavington her window seat just as the airliner glided above coastal Greenland.
Seeing the reflection of starlight bouncing off the dark waters and icebergs below calmed him. He had been nothing short of a trembling mess for the entire trip. Although deep down, he found the sensation of hurdling into the sky and becoming airborne to be thrilling. As the sun crept into the cabin, however, he started to tremble again and had to look away. The plane tilted slightly and Marigold was able to glimpse land from out the window.

"William," she nudged his shoulder, "look out your window." He shook his head, keeping his eyes glued on the screen at the back of the seat in front of him. Angry Birds, go figure. "You don't want to see England?"

"Describe it to me."

Marigold leaned across his chest and took a better look, "It looks like a patchwork quilt," she grinned, taking in the mismatched splotches of dark and pale green fields. "It's beautiful." As she turned to look at him, she noticed that he had vanished, fallen out of their dream yet again.
This time, she awoke to find that he was turned away from her in bed, trembling with just as much force as he had been moments ago.

"William?" She pulled him over to lay on his back. His bare chest was drenched and quickly chilling in the cold. The heater must have shut off sometime in the night. So, Marigold jogged down the hall, adjusted the thermostat and returned to his side. Nothing had changed. She spoke his name yet again to no avail. When she placed her hand on his heart, she found that it was pounding out a chaotic, nonsensical rhythm- nearly as badly as it had when he flatlined. Without a moment to spare, she dialed 911.

"Heart attack," the gray-haired paramedic droned to Marigold as she clung tightly to Tavington's hand on the ambulance, "a bad one, too."

"I don't understand. He was fine this morning. He was fine all day. He had a difficult evening, yes, but he was back to his usual self before we went to bed."

"I looked at his chart. Even the smallest disturbance can set him off. Has he been under any pressure lately, other than the usual?"

"We're planning for our wedding," Marigold's voice cracked. The medic didn't say anything, but she knew what he was thinking. Entering into a marriage right now would not only be imprudent, but nearly impossible. "We had sex," she said, awkwardly. If this admittance could help Tavington in the long run, she would gladly endure the impending lecture.

"Dammit," he grumbled, reaching for his stethoscope, "how long before his episode?"

Marigold shrugged, "Three, maybe four hours. We've been intimate several times over the last couple of days, it's actually seemed to help him!"

He looked up from his work, removing the glasses from his nose. "He received orders, you received orders, it's even written ten times in his damned release papers. You did this."

"But you don't know that for sure!" Marigold interjected, stubbornness getting the better of her. "I'll gladly take the blame, but first we should examine all of the facts! I took him to work earlier and he exhausted himself coming up with a story about his past... he has a troubled past... filled with regret-"

"Regret is not the culprit here, young lady. I'd be surprised if your lack of restraint doesn't kill him. Tonight."

As his eyes fluttered open, Tavington found himself in a familiar space. It appeared as though he had nodded off at that quiet campsite beside the stream. He could hear his fellow officers bickering over a crackling fire and also, footsteps. Not aggressive footsteps, no. But graceful and light as a gentle fawn approaching the water. A leftwards turn revealed their source.